


Model Behaviour

by shiftylinguini



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Awkward Sexual Situations, Badly behaved Animals, Banter, Bickering, Bisexual Harry Potter, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, First Dates, First Time, Frottage, Grinding, Humor, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Nudity, POV Alternating, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Rimming, Sexting, Sharing a Bed, Swearing, Talking Someone Off, Unexpected Meetings, Wall Sex, life model Draco Malfoy, sexual negotiation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-11-05 19:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11019591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/pseuds/shiftylinguini
Summary: Harry’s looking for something, but he’s not quite sure what, or where to find it. He’s tried all the usual places ― hookups, dating, that corner under the bed where all his odd socks end up ― but in the end, maybe finding someone he wants to be with is just more hassle than it’s worth. Coming out sounds like a lot of work after all, and he’s got his left hand, his busy job, and an active imagination. An active love life wouldn't add that much to his life, would it?Of course it would, but Harry’s trying not to think about that. Either way, seeing Draco Malfoy again, and in the most unlikely of places at that, is exactly the kind of thing Harry wasnotlooking for ― nor was he expecting to be attracted to him, to take him up on the offer of a drink, or above all, to enjoy himself while at it.Draco, on the other hand, wasn’t looking for anything at all, except maybe a little fun and to get to the end of his probation assignment without incident. He’s not likely to turn down a way to wind Potter up, though, especially not when he reacts so well ― never mind how Draco is reacting himself. He can run this show, and have everything he wants, of that he is certain.Well, mostly certain.





	1. Art Wank

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by some very silly art I did at Draco's birthday comm last year. Glossy, shiny thanks to my beta, M, for looking this over <3
> 
> *On a slight hiatus (bear with me! *blows kisses*) but there will be more at the end of the month!*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Harry wants to do is sketch a naked person, and then get the hell out of this life-drawing class, which he's well aware he should never have signed up for in the first place. Now, if said naked person could just bloody behave, and stop looking so good as well, then that would be great, too. 
> 
> Of course, Draco Malfoy is not going to do either of those things.

***

“Potter?”

Harry focused on the canvas in front of him. It was smooth, and white, and new. He could do this. He had done this before, with loads of models. All shapes and sizes: that woman with the long hair, that man who looked like the owner of Harry’s old local, that _other_ man with the weird lump on his...Well. Harry sincerely hoped he had gotten that checked out. 

Harry was no artist, but he had drawn those models, each and every one, in all their starkers glory, and he could bloody well draw ― 

“Psst. Potter!”

Harry clenched his jaw. He could bloody well draw this model too. Harry shut one eye and squinted. Maybe that would help him concentrate. He moved his pencil back to the paper. Easy does it, just a little ― 

“Oi, I said _Potter_!”

― a black line skidded across the page as Harry growled in frustration. He slammed his pencil down onto the little stool next to him, knocking several other pieces of charcoal and lead onto the ground in the process, and earning a scowl from the man to his right. Harry grimaced an apology, and bent to pick the supplies up. Great, those were smashed now; that’s thirty pounds of overpriced art wank in the bin. He pinched the bridge of his nose for the third time that class and cursed the universe for being such a relentless, shitty twat when it came to his luck. Of all the bloody people to show up as the model today ( _nude_ model, Harry’s dick happily corrected, registering its interest for the third time that day) why in the name of Voldemort’s inverted nostrils did it have to be ― 

“Po ―”

“ _What?_ ” Harry hissed, sticking his head out from behind his canvas. 

In the middle of the room, stretched out on a flimsy chaise lounge, and stark, bollock naked as the day he was born, sprawled Draco Malfoy. Harry stared at him and fumed. And got a bit harder. _Shit shit shit_ , he thought as he brought one thigh up a little higher to hide it. Luckily he was wearing a pair of loose, old, ripped jeans and an oversized hoodie, so he was fairly sure no one but him was aware of what his traitorous dick was happily doing down there. He sat a little higher in his chair, tucking one hand into the pocket of his trousers, as he tried to adjust himself discreetly. If he could just tuck his erection up into his belt, and….oh _God_ , this was a nightmare. If Malfoy was going to turn up and sit around naked in front of him, the least he could do is not be so _fit_ while he was at it. 

Draco stared back at him, seemingly unsure about what to do now he actually had Harry’s attention. Harry blinked at him in what he hoped was an expectant-yet-furious manner. He suspected he just looked a bit daft. He kept doing it anyway. 

“Um. Hello, potter. How are you?”

“What ― _’Hello’_?” Harry whispered harshly. “ _‘How am I’_ ― is that all what you wanted to say, Malfoy?”

“Yes, well -- oi, don't you _shh_ me, I'm allowed to talk.” Draco shifted slightly, glaring at the offending shh-er on the left, who stopped mid-way with a squeak, and hid back behind their own easel. Harry had to admit, even with his unmentionables out, Malfoy cut an intimidating figure. Like Michelangelo’s Irate David, Harry thought, then suppressed a laugh. He cleared his throat, setting his jaw and scowling as he remembered he was supposed to be annoyed. Draco turned his attention back to him. 

“Anyway, yes, hello. I wasn't sure if you recognised me or not,” Draco whispered back. 

Harry stared, open mouthed. “You weren’t sure... If I _recognised_ you?”

“Yes, is there an echo in here?” 

“Of course I bloody recognised you, Malfoy, I haven't gone blind in the last four years.”

“Dressed like you might have ―”

“Will you two be _quiet_!” 

“Sorr ―” Harry started, before he was cut off by Draco’s sharp, “Piss off!”

Harry stared in shock at Draco, and then turned to….well. Harry couldn't remember her name, but right now she looked outraged. Harry felt bad, but not _that_ bad; he kind of disliked her. She always took the best biscuits during break, and was covered in cat hair. To be fair, Harry kind of disliked everyone here. 

He wondered, not for the first time, if he had chosen the wrong hobby. 

“Well, I never!” The woman blustered. “Such language, and from a _model_!” She gasped in horror. 

Draco scoffed. “Oh calm down, you’re drawing my arse, not my manners. Stop eavesdropping, this is a private conversation, if you don't mind. And don’t interrupt again, you'll make me break pose. Honestly,” Draco tutted disapprovingly. Harry felt the eyes of everyone in the room on him. He gave up on the hope he could discreetly pack up and leave without anyone noticing. 

Chocolate Hobknob Thief stared incredulously at Draco, then got up to ― Harry could only assume ― huffily inform the woman who ran the classes that their model was being a dick. Carla always left them to draw in peace, after introducing the subject for the night, saying it would be good for them to create “ _in an environment unhindered by the watchful authoritarian eye_.” Really though, Harry suspected she was just taking a nap under her desk.

Draco watched her leave, then sighed. “Well, shitting shit. That's never a good sign.”

Harry raised his brows. “Happen to you often, does it?” 

“No.” Draco bristled. “Possibly. Fuck you, you were talking just as loudly.” Draco cracked his neck, and another artist cleared his throat, presumably to tell him to sit still, and Draco waved a hand dismissively. 

“Oh, save it, please,” he said, and the man pursed his lips, and glared at Harry. Harry looked back at him apologetically, feeling deeply complicit in having ruined the customary Tuesday calm of their life drawing class; there was never usually more than a bit of muted coughing and the sound of the quiet opera playing in the old CD player, and significantly less swearing and huffing and attractive blonds making a scene. 

Harry had to admit though, it was the most interesting class they’d ever had, and Draco was definitely the best looking model they’d ever had. Granted, the bar had been set pretty low by Long-Haired Martha and Man With Lumpy Balls, but regardless, Draco was fucking fit. All tall, and lean, and definitely in shape, with those muscles, and those _thighs_ , leading up to that thatch of honey blonde hair and then ― 

“Err. Potter?”

Harry startled and jumped, realising he’d been caught staring at Draco's groin, and grabbed his easel for support. All he managed to do, however, was make it skid loudly on the linoleum floor, drawing even more attention to himself as he knocked everything over onto the ground. He shut his eyes, wincing as he listened to a metal bowl for pencil shavings rattle on the ground loudly and finally stop. He finally opened them again to see everyone staring at him in a mixture of annoyance and irritation, and in Draco’s case, thinly veiled amusement. 

Yeah, Harry sighed. He was definitely getting a new hobby. 

“Well.” Draco stood up and stretched and Harry watched the long line of his stomach. Oh dear Christ, had Draco always been this fit? He’d never been this attractive at school, Harry thought frantically, ignoring the little voice that said _yes he bloody was and you know it_. Harry watched helplessly as Draco scratched at his belly, seemingly enjoying the room’s rapt attention. His flaccid cock swayed slightly as he walked over to the coat stand and picked up his white robe, turning to pull it around himself.

Harry stared at Draco's arse, mouth dropping open slightly on a sound, before he realised what he was doing and slammed it shut, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as though that would stop him from doing any more mortifying things in the presence of Draco’s distracting _bits_. 

He glanced around the room, trying to locate the nearest point of escape and avoid eye contact with everyone, until Draco finished dressing. His clothes were a combination of Muggle trousers, a crisp white shirt, and a black robe with a baby blue lining. He looked rather understated for a Malfoy, but wildly overdressed for a Muggle life drawing class, Harry thought. He also looked stupidly elegant, Harry thought, then tried to remind himself that he wasn’t supposed to find Draco stupidly anything, except...possibly stupidly stupid. 

Draco looked at Harry expectantly over his shoulder. 

“Well, come on then. We’re storming out.”

“W ― We’re what?”

“Oh, dear Merlin.” Draco turned to face him again. “Have you actually lost the ability to follow simple sentences? Must you repeat everything?” Draco put his hands on his hips. “That is a genuine question, Potter, I'm concerned for you.”

“Oh, for the love of ― _no_ , I am fine! I’m just having a really hard time making sense of any of this.” Harry licked his lips. “Or why I would be leaving with you!”

“Well.” Draco folded his arms across his chest. “First things first, you are definitely having a hard time of something, that much is clear.” Mortified beyond belief, Harry watched as Draco flicked his eyes down to Harry’s crotch ( _ohgodohgodohfuck_ ) and then matter of factly looked back at Harry’s face. “Second point,” Draco went on, as Harry turned red as a beetroot and felt as thick as one too. Fuck, he needed to get out of here. “Secondly ― oh don't blush so, Potter, it's fine. Happens to the best of us. Anyway, _secondly_ , we are storming out because any minute now I'm going to be asked to leave anyway, and it's not like you or anyone else here can actually draw worth a damn. Oh shut it, you can't, don't take it out on me,” Draco groused at the chorus of dissent from the class’s budding artists. It wasn't a very strong dissent; Draco did rather have a point.

“And thirdly, you owe me a pint.” Draco pulled the sleeve of his robe down as he fastened a button at the cuff. “Several pints, or maybe some kind of oddly named cocktail. I’m feeling very celebratory.” Draco smiled charmingly and Harry frowned at him, utterly speechless. 

“Why...do I need to buy you a drink?” Harry asked in a low voice, pointedly not repeating what Draco had said. Draco made a thoughtful face. 

“No, well I guess you don’t _need_ to,” he conceded. “But it has been proven to be the most effective way to get into my pants. Which I have just put back on, specifically with the intention that you should make a valiant attempt to get at what you now know is underneath them.” Draco smoothed down the front of his shirt, patted both pockets, then smiled. “Oh, and,” Draco made a gesture towards Harry, and then back towards his own nose, “you’ve got black on your face. Meet me outside in five?” 

With that, he nodded formally, waved at the room, saluted Harry, and strode purposefully out the door. 

Harry watched the heavy wood slowly close behind him, gobsmacked.

“I think that model fancies you,” a woman Harry was fairly certain was called Agnes leaned in and said in a loud stage whisper. 

“I...nmuh?” Harry stared at her. Agnes rearranged her carefully coiffed grey hair, and then looked at the door Draco had left through with what was unmistakably a leer. She looked back at Harry and waggled her eyebrows, before giggling slightly and returning to her own, anatomically _very_ disproportionate sketch. 

Harry stared at the other occupants at the room, then slowly got up. He nodded, once, very formally, and then realised that was a stupid thing to do to a room full of strangers you don’t like and have just been propositioned in front of, and he headed for the door instead.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are love! Come say hi on [LJ ](http://shiftylinguini.livejournal.com/profile/)or [tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard)<3


	2. The Bee's Knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s possibly very ill-advised to proposition childhood rivals while naked and in a room full of gawping onlookers, but Draco’s rather partial to impulsive decisions these days ― as well as finding out what the fuck is in this drink, and above all what the hell Potter is doing in a life drawing class, nursing a hard on and zero artistic skill. 
> 
> And if anything more happens ― well, they can see where that goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will be updating to more of a schedule from here on, but since the first part was so teensy I figured I'd get chapter 2 up a little early :)

***

“So, why are you doing life modelling?

“Why are you doing life drawing?” Draco shot back, raising one brow and sucking a cherry off his cocktail stick. At least, he hoped it was a cherry. It could be an olive, or a grape, or a small beetle with impressive grip for all Draco could tell with these drinks. 

He’d insisted on going somewhere nice, and ordering something posh, and given the menu here at _Les Genoux des Abeilles_ was entirely in French, Draco rather thought he’d succeeded. However, and although he’d kiss a Hippogriff before he’d actually admit this, Draco’s French was awful. His mother had spent more than her fair share of time trying to teach him, and then hiring tutors to teach him instead when she inevitably got a cluster headache from his abysmal pronunciation. Even _Pansy_ could speak better than he could, and until she was fourteen she’d thought ‘ _moi_ ’ was pronounced ‘ _moy_ ’. Draco had never been able to figure out why, but he simply had no knack for languages. It did make coming to a bar in Muggle London which dealt entirely in said unknown language something of an unwise decision. 

But then again, Draco thought as he surreptitiously eyed Harry from under his fringe, so was storming out of a modelling gig, after propositioning someone you’ve never gotten along with in your entire life. But he wasn’t about to let having no idea what he was doing ― or drinking ― stop him from having a good time. Especially not after having had so much of Harry’s attention on him for the better part of a day. 

He’d been gobsmacked when he had walked in and seen Harry, looking preemptively bored as he sat behind his wooden easel and stared at a spot on the wall. He looked a little different, his hair a bit longer but no less unruly, and his eyes as familiar as ever even behind the unfamiliar ― and slightly more fashionable ― frames he was now wearing. He also looked exactly as fit as Draco remembered, even more so given the way he’d filled out in three plus years since they’d seen each other. Apparently not being pursued by a maniac suited him, and then some. What didn't suit him, given the strange squeak he emitted when he saw who their model was, and the way he hid entirely behind his sketch paper as soon as Draco began to remove his white robe, was seeing Draco again. Draco would have been annoyed about it, if he hadn’t figured out very quickly that it was his state of undress that was causing Harry such a hard time, and not their usual past animosity. And it was an _impressively_ hard time too, by the looks of Potter’s trousers. Seeing him aroused, confused and flustered like he’d just rediscovered puberty was not something Draco was used to, but it was definitely something he’d _imagined_ seeing before. That, he could definitely work with, he’d decided. 

It was certainly not how his modelling appointments through the Muggle liaison usually went. 

Draco stirred his drink, relaxing slightly when he bit down and tasted the sickly sweet tang of a maraschino cherry. Thank Merlin it wasn't another pickled onion, like his previous drink had come with. That was not the sort of thing Draco was used to encountering on the end of a cocktail umbrella. But on the other hand, maraschino cherries were revolting, so he wasn’t entirely convinced he’d won this round of Draco Malfoy and the Poor Cocktail Choices. 

“Well?” Draco asked archly, swirling his drink and noticing with some satisfaction that Harry didn’t seem any happier with his choice of beverage. His possibly looked even worse. Draco smiled at that. 

“Well what?” Harry scowled, and Draco tried not to preen. It was messed up, he knew, but he got an inordinate amount of enjoyment out of seeing Harry pull that face. 

“Well, why are you in a life drawing class?”

“I asked you first,” Harry mumbled, carefully lifting his overfilled glass and taking a sip. He made a face as he spilled some of it over his fingers, placing his glass down to suck at them. He caught Draco’s eye, then flushed, removing his finger from his mouth and nearly knocking over the candle holder in the centre of their table. In the process of righting the drippy candle, Harry then managed to bang an elbow into his glass and send it toppling over the edge of the polished table top. 

“Shit!” he hissed, scrabbling for it, then stared as Draco carefully levitated it back onto the table, the contents pouring themselves back inside with a flick of his concealed wand. Draco smiled even wider at the stunned expression on Harry’s face as he slipped his wand fully back up his sleeve, then pushed Harry’s drink back towards him with two elegant fingers splayed against the delicate glass base. 

Draco had never seen anyone so flustered by him in his entire life. He knew he was good looking, and he was used to turning more than his fair share of heads, but he’d yet seen someone turn to such blithering goo in his presence. 

It was exhilarating. 

“You can’t ―” Harry sat forward on his seat, looking over his shoulder and then back at Draco. “This is a Muggle bar, you can’t use magic in here!” he whispered furiously. 

Draco leant forward, until their faces were almost touching. He resisted the urge to smirk when he saw Harry’s eyes widen in surprise, flicking down to his mouth and back. 

“No one saw,” he whispered faux-dramatically back at Harry. Harry blinked at him, then frowned indignantly. 

“That’s not the ― you don’t know that for sure!” Harry countered, cheeks turning that ruddy colour again. Draco rather liked that colour on Harry. He felt exceedingly smug to know he was the cause of it. 

Draco shrugged one shoulder, looking Harry in the eye. 

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” he murmured, then licked his lips deliberately, and slowly. He internally crowed in triumph when he saw Harry’s eyes flick down, tracking the movement of his tongue, before Harry blinked, swallowing hard and looking away at the candle holder to their left. 

Yes, flustering Harry was exhilarating indeed. 

Draco held the eye contact a moment longer, then smiled, sitting back against his chair. Harry glanced at him then away again quickly. He cleared his throat, taking a large swig of his drink. 

“It started because I was destitute,” Draco said conversationally. 

Harry stopped, the rim of his glass resting against his lip. 

“What started because of...what?” he asked, brows creasing in bewilderment. 

“The nude modelling,” Draco elaborated evenly, hands clasped in his lap as Harry continued to stare at him in confusion. 

“Oh? Oh!” Harry set his drink down, nodding. “You were...wait, destitute?” he asked, voice tinged with disbelief. 

“Yes,” Draco agreed, then sighed for effect. “Quite a tragic story, really, involving a series of philandering Spanish werewolves and a heist on the family vaults. We were left getting by on the skin of our teeth.”

Harry continued to frown. “Spanish werewolves stole all your money?”

Draco nodded solemnly, trying to keep his face as straight as possible. It was difficult. “Yes, do keep up, Potter. It was an appalling situation, and after I ended up on the streets ―”

“ ― what, why didn’t you have the Manor anymo ―” 

“ ― I needed to support myself,” Draco continued loudly over Harry's question, belatedly realising that Harry had a good point. He could hardly say the werewolves had stolen his house, too. He carried on regardless. “So, I started taking on whatever jobs I could find.” Draco shrugged. “Gardening, housekeeping, um.” Draco’s mouth turned down as he tried to think of a third thing. “Chimney sweeping,” he settled on. 

Across from him, Harry raised his eyebrows, but he didn't interrupt. Draco wondered for a moment if he was truly buying this; he had no idea where he himself was planning on taking this whopper of a lie. Story of his life, really. 

“A chimney sweep,” Harry said after a moment, his face stuck somewhere between disbelief and trying not to look judgmental. Draco could practically see the cogs working in his brain, as he tried to piece together how much of this was made up and how much of it was true. Draco tried not to smirk outright; apparently winding Potter up was something he was never going to grow out of. 

“Yes, a chimney sweep.” Draco pretended to smooth out a crease on his trousers. “Merlin, you really do repeat things a lot,” he added, enjoying Harry’s indignant glare at that. “It’s quite a lucrative job, and very...physically taxing. One has to keep in shape, of course,” he elaborated, watching Harry flush slightly at the reminder of what he’d seen earlier. The narcissistic butterflies in Draco’s stomach danced with glee. “And one thing led to another, and here I am.” Draco shrugged in what he hoped was a self-deprecating manner, pointedly glossing over the myriad plot holes in his tale. It had been a while since he’d had such an attentive audience, but he thought he could still put on a decent act. 

Harry blinked at him, pushing his glasses back up his nose. There was a smudge on the left lens, a thumbprint, and Draco suddenly wanted to clean it off. It had always driven him mad when Harry had marks on his glasses, or wore those oversized and ugly clothes, when they were at Hogwarts. Draco clenched his hands a little tighter in his lap instead. 

“It...pays well, then?” Harry asked, raising his glass to his lips with almost painful caution. “You definitely don’t look very destitute now,” Harry finished quietly, flicking a glance at the expensive cuffs at Draco’s wrists and his satin-lined robe. 

“Oh, yes, extremely well.” 

“That’s funny though, because I’m quite certain that Clara said all the models at her studio were volunteers.” Harry folded his arms, his mouth set in a stern line but his eyes shining with what looked like amusement. “And unless the nature of volunteer work has changed dramatically since I had to do it as part of my Auror training, I think that means all you’re getting paid in is free tea and biscuits in the break, and some unflattering amateur sketches.”

 _Shit_. 

“Ah.” Draco stalled. Harry tilted his head, smiling in polite triumph and looking expectant. Draco stared back for a moment, then sighed, tapping the counter top gently with three fingers as he smiled. 

“That was all bollocks, wasn’t it Malfoy?” Harry asked, looking like he was trying very hard not to grin. 

“Well,” Malfoy shrugged one shoulder, “I did clean a Floo once.” Harry looked unconvinced. “Okay, so I hired someone, but I was in the room when they did it.” Draco stilled his tapping fingers. “I had you going though, didn’t I?”

“Honestly?” Harry smiled wryly. “You lost me at the Spanish werewolf heist.” He toyed with his cocktail umbrella, seeming reluctant to try and eat whatever slimey delight was on the end of his. It looked like it could once have been sentient, Draco noted with distaste. 

“I knew I should have gone with a gang of Nifflers,” he said ruefully. 

“Now that I might have believed.” Harry spread his hands diplomatically. “Why did you go with anything though, and not just, y’know, the actual reason you do it?”

“Because, Mr Potter,” Draco explained, “a gang of Nifflers or some philandering werewolves forcing me into the seedy world of getting my kit off for terrible artists like you is still more plausible, I’d wager, than the reason I was actually there.”

“Oh really? Try me,” Harry asked, smiling as he played with the stem of his glass. “Can’t be that bad.”

Draco tilted his head, weighing his words. _Ah, sod it_. At least he wasn’t the one trying to draw in the aforementioned class. That was the true cause for embarrassment, here. 

“It’s community service,” he said plainly, watching Harry’s head shoot up. 

“Bollocks!” he said, eyes only widening further behind his glasses as the corner of Draco’s mouth quirked slightly. 

“No, that one’s not a lie.”

“How is...” Harry shook his head in disbelief. “How is _modelling_ community service?” 

Draco took a sip of his drink, then put it down carefully before he looked Harry dead in the eye. 

“Have you seen me, Potter?” he said, raising one brow. 

Harry rolled his eyes, looking away. His cheeks stayed pink though, Draco noted, resisting the urge to smirk. 

“No, you’re having me on again,” Harry said with a shake of his head. 

“I’m really not,” Draco said, laughing softly. “As part of my reparations to the Wizarding community I am assigned to the Muggle liaison office, to complete five years of probation entailing community service assignments,” Draco sighed, trying to remember what else they’d said at the end of his trial, “including, but not limited to, working within the Muggle community and fulfilling certain voluntary roles so as to foster a general understanding of their way of life, their value to the Wizarding community, and to engender peaceful relations between the pureblood community and the Muggle world,” he finished, realising he’d almost recited his sentence word for word. Surely that was ten points to Slytherin, at least, he thought wryly. 

“Oh.” Harry sat up straighter, his expression turning more rigid. “You’re on probation.”

“Correct,” Draco said curtly. 

He looked down at his lap, feeling suddenly wrong footed. He’d somehow not anticipated this coming up, even though it now seemed glaringly obvious to him. He was doing community service, yes, and both of them were very intimate with the details of why. Somehow, in the excitement of leaving the modelling gig and with the thrill of seeing Harry's blatant attraction to him, Draco hadn’t really factored in that the past might come up in their ensuing conversation. He’d been too busy having fun with it all. 

There was far too little fun in his life these days. 

Harry stared down at the table top, and Draco pursed his lips, wondering if perhaps he should excuse himself to the bathroom as they both rode the awkwardness out. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to think about the war ― he thought about it every day ― but he really didn’t want to have to try and explain his part in it to Harry right now. He wasn’t sure if ‘I was young, and stupid, and I didn’t know any better’ would really cut it with him, but there wasn’t really more he wanted to say beyond that. There was only so much having to explain himself he could handle. 

“Um,” Harry said after a moment, straightening slightly and pushing his hair away from his face. “So, the Wizengamot assigned you to community service of... nude modelling?” His tone sounded more bewildered than accusing, and Draco laughed once, a soft relieved sound, before he cleared his throat and schooled his face into something more sensible. He shook his head. 

“No, it varies.” He swallowed, leaning forward again. “My community service is with the Muggle Liaison office, as I said,” he clarified. “So, they give me all sorts of assignments. At first they just gave me whatever came up, real bottom of the pile type duties, but now they let me choose what I’d like to do, give me a few options. It’s been three years after all. They’re rather...familiar with me,” he added. 

That was an understatement; he spent five days a week in that office, getting his assignments from Matilda on the front desk ― and usually getting tea and a danish with her afterwards. Draco’d been wary of Tilly at first, assuming her kindness towards him was pity, but he soon learned that she was just, bizarrely enough, a forgiving and sweet person who didn’t give much of a stuff about his past. She also had a terrible sense of humour, even worse taste in men, and was a mean cook. Now, Draco considered her one of his closest friends, which was still rather mind-boggling to him. 

Harry stared at him blankly, and Draco sighed. “I help out at the office too, record keeping, filing, other secretarial duties, and once a week I get assigned something in the Muggle community. Library work, that sort of thing,” Draco waved a hand, “but then the modelling gig came up and Tilly basically demanded I take it. It was supposed to be a one off, for some company needing a few extras in a photoshoot, and I had nothing better to do.” He shrugged. “Then they kept asking me back, giving other people my details. I’m rather popular, for some reason,” he said, injecting his voice with as much innocence as he could considering he was well aware why he was so popular. 

“It’s not your attitude,” Harry mumbled, and Draco glared, continuing on regardless. 

“Hush, Potter, it’s modelling. People expect a certain level of high maintenance. As I was saying. Given it’s within the Muggle community, it counts as my volunteer work, and given I actually _enjoy_ it, I’m encouraged to keep it up. And lo, here we are.” Draco raised his glass to Harry, who pushed his glasses up his nose, still looking rather taken aback by all of this. 

Draco resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably, not sure where this conversation could possibly go from here. Harry looked like the mention of probation and trials had dumped something of a bucket of cold reality onto him, and Draco felt flatter about that fact than he would normally have anticipated. Perhaps Harry would think it was too lenient a sentence, too lenient an assignment ― perhaps he’d take offence at Draco enjoying what he did. He certainly hadn’t enjoyed his assignments at first, but given he had another two years of it, he was certainly going to try and make it as bearable as possible. He knew, however, that there were some people who would rather see him rotting in a cell, and...well, that was their business. Draco tried not to dwell on that. The Wizengamot had certainly thought this particular punishment suited him, and would teach him some, what was it, ‘ _valuable experiences about appropriate behaviour_ ’. He wasn’t sure how Harry would feel about all of that, though, and Draco found he didn’t want Harry to suddenly regret spending any time with him. He really didn’t want this to descend into a rehashing of the past; he felt certain that would involve either one or both of them leaving in a foul mood, and much less of the significantly more pleasant things he was hoping this evening could end with. 

He needed to take this in hand, steer this back towards blushing and aroused Potter, and away from scowly and pensive Potter ― they could save all that for a later occasion, if they must. 

“So,” he said with a confidence he didn't quite feel at the moment. “Your turn now.”

“Huh?”

“Why are you in a life drawing class, sketching the likes of me and my nubile, naked form?” Draco clarified, eager to turn the focus of the conversation onto someone else. He was usually happy for any attention he could get, but he’d learnt, by twenty years old, that there was indeed such a thing as the wrong sort of attention.

“Oh, god,” Harry grimaced, looking like he’d forgotten this might come up. “No, you don’t want to know about that,” he mumbled, turning red again. 

“I can assure you, Potter, I very much do,” Draco said, clinging to this change of subject with renewed vigour. 

Harry sighed, heavily. “It’s just a...a hobby,” he said with a shake of his head. 

“I didn't know you were a budding artist.”

“Yeah, well you don’t actually know me at all, do you?” Harry shot back, but it didn’t have any true bite behind it. Draco raised his brows, and Harry sighed again. “You’re right, though, I can’t draw to save my life. It’s lucky it never came up before,” he grumbled.

“So why on earth were you there?”

“Because!” Harry threw his hands up slightly, then let them rest back against the table. “Because, Hermione said it would be good for me to get a hobby, something light-hearted and to keep me busy after...just, busy.” Harry finished, cagily, and Draco made a mental note to explore that further as soon as possible. “I mean, I think Auror work keeps me plenty busy enough, but she thought _socially_ , I needed to…” Harry trailed off.

“So, let me guess. Grang ― Hermione,” Draco amended, earning him a strange look from Harry, “gave you a list of hobbies you might like to pursue, and you picked the obscurist one there, in order to appease her, but also in the hopes that she would never follow up whether you were actually doing it or not.” 

Harry looked at him evenly, then sagged in his chair. “I didn’t know she was so interested in life drawing!”

“Her... friend runs the class, and she made you sign up?” Draco posited, voice brimming with delight. He smiled even wider when Harry nodded, begrudgingly. 

“Friend of her friend’s friend. Clara knows Melanie knows Hermione, from her Muggle school.” Harry shook his head dejectedly. “The drawing is a side project of Clara’s, away from her organic, clay pottery business.” Harry sighed, and Draco made a face. “I never wanted to actually go, she was just convinced it would do me some good to have more of a routine, and get out of the house a bit more, meet people.” Harry stopped, looking as if he’d accidentally said too much, before a somewhat resigned expression settled over him. It never ceased to be a source of joy for Draco, the way Harry was incapable of hiding his emotions. “When I broke up with Ginny, I sort of...didn’t really get back into the dating scene. I...” Harry licked his lips, his face flushing even darker, but his jaw was set in determination. “The breakup was fine, but it’s hard meeting people, for me anyway, people who aren’t… just, _awful_.” Harry finished, his tone suggested he had more than a handful of dating horror stories on that count. Draco was dying to ask about them, but he also didn’t want to interrupt and stop Harry in this curiously candid admission. Maybe the drinks were stronger than they’d realised; Draco did feel a little hot himself, or that could be from the fact Harry had taken his jumper off earlier, revealing a white t-shirt which was very distractingly tight in certain places. Merlin, but Potter was _fit_. It wasn’t the first time Draco had noticed it, not by a long shot, but it was still as unsettling as ever; no one had ever pissed him off as much as Harry had, nor got him as hot under the collar when he thought about them. 

“So, I just sort of gave up on it,” Harry continued, and Draco blinked, pulling his mind out of his trousers and back into the conversation. “Dating people, that is. I mean, it was too much hassle meeting people anyway, and it’s not like I’m lonely or anything ―” Harry broke off, looking like he couldn't quite believe what he was saying. He took a large mouthful of his drink, draining the glass. 

“Meeting men, I assume you mean,” Draco interjected, unable to stop himself. 

Harry choked, some of his drink spilling down his chin as he tried not to spit it out in surprise. “Pardon?” he croaked. 

Draco blinked, watching as Harry set his empty glass down and wiped at his chin. “Well, this may come as a surprise to you, Potter, but you had an erect ―”

“I know that!” Harry hissed, looking over his shoulder again as if the people behind them might be eavesdropping on their conversation. Draco glanced at them; it was a Muggle bar, and the only people they were sitting near was a couple in their fifties, who were doing a cryptic crossword and sharing a bowl of chips. He doubted they could have given even the vaguest of stuffs about Harry Potter and the erection he had earlier. 

He said as much to Harry. 

“No, that’s,” Harry shut his eyes, slashes of embarrassed red still on his cheeks and neck. “Of course I was aware of, y’know. What my own _body_ was doing,” he mumbled. “It was a bit hard to ignore.”

“Tell me about it.”

Harry made another choking sound, shaking his head and running his fingers over his eyes, pushing his glasses up. “Fucking hell,” he murmured. 

“So, you were trying to meet men? That’s what you gave up on,” Draco clarified, persistently. Harry groaned slightly, nodding his head from side to side, then sagging in his seat once more. It seemed that after a drink or two, Harry lost even more of his ability to hide how he was feeling. It was rather endearing, which was...a bit confusing for Draco, to be frank. He was okay with being attracted to Potter ― he’d made a begrudging sort of peace with that around 6th year ― but he wasn’t sure where he stood on being endeared by him and his odd mannerisms. 

Harry sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead and up into his hair. “Not _just_ men,” he muttered, and Draco tried not to stare at the way his hair now stuck up. 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Potter.” Draco frowned, slightly perturbed by Harry’s reaction. 

“No, I know that,” Harry insisted, holding his hands up placatingly. “It’s just, it’s not exactly...I’m not exactly _out_ ,” he explained quietly. “I haven’t. Um. Well, it’s a relatively new thing.” Harry licked his lips. “And I’m not keen for the press to find out, exactly. Not until. Not until it’s on my terms.”

Draco watched Harry, waiting to see if he had more to say. When Harry continued to stare at a spot on the back of Draco’s chair, arms folded in a mix of embarrassment and defensiveness, Draco cleared his throat gently to get his attention. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said softly, and meant it. The press were fuckers, and he himself wasn’t the kind of fucker who was going to get involved with them anymore. He’d decided that after some of the headlines they’d printed about him when he’d come out himself ― plastering pictures of him dancing, drinking, and kissing men he’d met at bars. Honestly, they weren’t even inventive or clever with their headlines, preferring instead to garishly imply all sorts of scandalous acts. Draco didn’t really want to be associated with organizations that implied a man kissing another man was a degenerate act, then simultaneously made money off the back of printing it as the height of salacious gossip. He could rather empathise with Harry’s situation; the press would eat him alive if he was seen in flagrante with someone in possession of only one x chromosome.

“God. Shit.” Harry shook his head, smiling incredulously at himself as if it had just occurred to him who he was speaking to. “I don't know why I’m telling you any of this. You, of all people!” Harry picked his empty glass up, then set it down again. He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “What is _in_ these drinks?”

“Oi, I just said I wouldn't tell anyone!” Draco replied indignantly, his moment of magnanimous kindness gone. He softened slightly when he saw Harry smile at him, green eyes flashing behind his black frames. “As for the drinks, it’s anyone’s guess.”

“I thought you spoke French?” Harry asked. 

“Yes, I know you thought that,” Draco answered, swirling his own glass and then draining the last of its contents. “There’s no Veritaserum in them, I’m quite certain of that,” he added, looking up at Harry pointedly through the slight fall of his hair, before brushing it away from his eyes. 

Harry nodded, mouth twisted up into a self-deprecating smile. “Yeah. Point taken.” He inhaled deeply, sitting upright and stretching his shoulders back. Draco eyed the way it pulled the material taught across his chest. “Well, now you know why I was in that class.” 

Draco nodded. 

“Because your friend badgered you into it, because you’re definitely not lonely but you also have absolutely no life, and you’re in sexual limbo because you’ve realised you’re queer and want to explore it, but don’t know how to meet nice boys who aren’t going to be beasts and go to the press as soon as they’ve wiped their mouths and got their knickers back on.” Draco dabbed at his upper lip with his napkin, while Harry stared at him, mouth open. 

“No! Not ― not…” Harry trailed off, then swallowed hard. “That’s not how I would put it,” he finally decided on.

“How would you put it then?” 

“I would say I am...exploring my options and learning a valuable, um,” Harry squinted as he thought, “a valuable skill, while opening myself up to...meeting people.”

“And how has that worked you for you?” Draco inquired in a politely consoling tone, tilting his head and playing with the slim stem of his empty cocktail glass once more. “Not many people meet future dating prospects in life drawing classes,” he added pointedly.

“Well, I met you, didn’t I?” Harry shot back. 

Draco raised one brow, slowly. “Is this a date then?” 

He smirked when he saw Harry’s eyes widen, his expression becoming mortified as he realised the implication of what he’d just said. 

“No, I didn’t...well, I mean I did meet you, but not, I didn’t meant that I _met_ you, unless,” Harry licked his lips, scrabbling for the words, “unless that’s what you meant, when you...when you asked me here,” Harry finished faintly, a small crease forming between his brows and his expression still set somewhere between mortified and...Well, cautiously optimistic, Draco noted. He tried not to blush himself at that. 

“Would you like to come back to mine for coffee?” he offered impulsively, ignoring the excited thump of his pulse. “Assuming you’re done with your drink,” he added quietly, drawing out the last word. 

Harry opened his mouth, green eyes wide behind his glasses and the too-long flop of his fringe, before he closed his lips again. He inhaled sharply, seeming to weigh up whether he wanted to take this further or not, before he set his jaw in determination. 

He nodded jerkily, and then again more steadily, and Draco exhaled, releasing the breath he didn’t want to admit he’d been holding. 

“M ― “ Harry cleared his throat. “Mine, though. Can we go to mine?” he asked after a moment. 

Draco tilted his lips into a smile. 

“Of course. Lead the way.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are love! Come find me on [LJ ](http://shiftylinguini.livejournal.com/profile/)or [tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard)<3


	3. Charmed to the Rafters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry’s never really been one to pick people up, but then again Draco’s not exactly just anybody ― a fact Harry’s not likely to forget. All they need to do now is make it past the hallway of Grimmauld Place, as well as an awkward reintroduction and the constant reminders of their somewhat tempestuous history, and they can get their evening really going. 
> 
> Or maybe the hallway will do, after all.

***

Harry had definitely had sex before.

He didn’t have a lot of sex, that was true, but it wasn't that he wouldn't have liked to ― he wasn’t lying when he’d told Draco earlier that he had trouble meeting people. People that he liked, that is, and who weren't wankers, or who had a fetish for his last name and his fame. The last proper date he’d gone on had been an absolute disaster, involving Harry going soft mid-way through some already pretty lackluster sex, after he'd heard the woman whispering ‘the boy who lived’ while stroking one finger down his scar. Harry’d been tempted to correct her to ‘ _the boy who felt really creeped out right now, actually_ ’, but instead he’d dressed and left in a hurry, jacket tucked under his arm and shoes on the wrong feet in his haste to get out of her flat. 

He had used Glamours after that complete ― and literal ― flop of an evening, but that had very quickly turned sour on him, too. What was the point of going out to meet people if he had to pretend he was someone else in order to do it? He couldn't build a relationship on the back of posing as Harvey Piers, the sandy-haired chap from Essex, and he didn’t want to pick people up for sex that way either. It felt grubby, dodgy, to lie to someone about something so basic right from the beginning, and Harry could never bring himself to even take someone home while wearing a different face. He knew it wouldn't be worth it, and what was the point in going to so much effort just to have some mediocre sex with someone who didn’t know what he actually looked like, and might flip their lid when they found out? No, Harry couldn’t be buggered with all of that. 

So, instead he just settled for not having sex at all. He was okay with that, albeit in a bleak sort of way, but to those around him it seemed like a pretty sad fix to the problem. Harry was resigned to it, though. He had two hands, and an active imagination, and really it wasn’t the first time his sex life had rivalled Luna's Nargles for the award of 'Most Nonexistent Thing in Wizarding England’. Voldemort had been a pretty effective libido dampener for a large part of his teenaged years, so really, he was kind of used to wanking himself raw, and this way there was no one telling him off for eating take-out in bed or sleeping diagonally across the mattress. If he tried really hard, Harry could almost see that as a silver lining to being perpetually cock blocked by a bloody scar on his head and his eye colour. 

If he tried really, _really_ hard, that is. 

Sex with Ginny had been great, but they’d both known they weren’t going to be anything long term. They stayed together while it worked for them, but there was never any pretense that this was much beyond friends with benefits ― very good friends, yes, but friends all the same. Harry loved her, but he’d never been in love with her, and while she adored him too, neither of them saw a future together. Except, of course, one that involved Sunday lunches at the Burrow, and drinks a few times a week. That, and a long and sustained friendship with someone who would listen to him whinge about his crappy love life, or complain about his Auror workload being large, dull and mostly office-based even though he’d been able to graduate early due to his ‘ _practical experience_ ’, or to grumble with about Hermione’s cooking. Harry found it hard to be disappointed with that. 

Subsequently, the breakup had been a non-event to Harry, and to Ginny too, and she’d even begun seeing someone else since ― a burly chap, who was a Quidditch trainer on her team. He was built like a brick shithouse, and had the intelligence to match, but Ginny didn’t really seem to mind. She wasn’t the settling down type, not yet anyway, and Thierry the trainer was exactly the kind of fun she was looking for. 

Harry wasn’t really sure what he was looking for ― he did know, though, that he _was_ looking for something. 

It hadn’t been that long since he’d accepted that he was attracted to men as well as women, and it had taken him a little bit longer still to tell anyone that. Ginny hadn’t been that surprised, and Ron hadn’t been surprised in the slightest. Hermione, to cap off the strangeness of the evening, had simply chinked her glass with his and said “welcome to the club, Harry”, before settling back against the sofa, Ron’s arm around her shoulders as he smiled at her. All in all, it hadn’t gone remotely how he’d expected it to, but considering he’d been braced for something far worse, that was fine by him.

Telling a few close friends, though, was still all he’d done about it. That, and add a few different body parts to the repertoire of things he let himself wank to, but he didn’t think that counted as an active and healthy sex life. Hermione certainly didn’t, that was for sure. He didn’t want to think of what Draco would say to that. He was vaguely dreading it coming up. He’d been vaguely dreading everything, actually, since he’d stupidly invited Draco to his house, possibly even as far back as following him out of the class, or being born with a dick that refused to obey anything Harry told it ― namely, not to be interested in Draco Malfoy ― because Harry had definitely _not_ had sex with a man before. 

He had no idea what the fuck he was doing ― other than being reckless and impulsive, and having something close to the most exciting, entertaining and even _pleasant_ evenings he’d had in months. All in the company of Draco Malfoy ― the same person who had hated him since he was eleven, who Harry had accidentally eviscerated in a bathroom, whose family had been diametrically opposed to everything Harry stood for, and who was somehow the first person to make Harry’s stomach flip with excited and nervous interest in longer than Harry could remember. 

It was enough to give him a headache, he thought, as he stepped through the door and into the hallway of Grimmauld Place. 

“Merlin’s tits, Potter.”

Harry whipped around, coming face to surprised face with Draco, who had stopped as he surveyed the premises, mouth elegantly turned down and grey eyes wide. 

“You live _here_?” Draco asked skeptically, raising one brow. He began slowly pulling his gloves off, one finger after the other. 

“Err, yes.” Harry wondered what part of that in particular was surprising to Draco. And then if it was normal to be attracted to someone’s hands. It probably wasn’t. Regardless, Harry couldn’t stop himself from watching as Draco pulled the soft black leather away from them.

Harry blinked, looking up guiltily as Draco cleared his throat. Now finished with his gloves, Draco folded them and placed them in his pocket, crossing his arms. 

“This house is huge, Potter,” Draco said emphatically, “and it is _ancient_ , and if I’m not mistaken that is the Black family crescent over that stairwell, and that is ― what the hell is _that_?!” 

“Master Draco!”

Draco made a strangled, choking sound as Harry followed his eyeline.

“Oh.” Harry smiled. “That’s Dobby.”

“Good evening, sirs!”

“I know who that is!” Draco hissed in a low whisper. “He used to iron my underpants, I’m not likely to forget him. What I don’t understand is why you have a portrait of him on your _wall_ , in your bizarrely cavernous, museum of a stately wizarding home which is bang in the middle of Muggle London.”

Harry shrugged, turning to face the large portrait of the house elf, hanging to their left. Dobby waved, his other hand fiddling with the neck of his embroidered tea cosy, and Harry waved back. 

“House is unplottable, Charmed to the rafters, so the neighbours aren’t fussed. It’s kind of uncleanable too, but,” Harry shrugged again, “I’ve grown fond of it. Sirius left it to me. And the portrait, well. There were all these other, um,” Harry grimaced as he remember the heads of the house elves, “yeah the decor was a bit off in here, for me anyway,” he grumbled. “So, I had this commissioned after Dobby...after the war.”

Harry swallowed thickly, noticing Draco look at him with a small frown at that. Harry thought Draco possibly didn’t know Dobby was dead, but he didn’t feel like elaborating on the subject right now; Draco’s expression hadn’t changed, but there was slight colour on his cheeks, a faint flush of discomfort. Harry felt oddly unwilling to contribute to that. 

“There used to be a different portrait down here, Walburga Black,” he said instead. “She was Sirius’s mother, and she was…” Harry trailed off, casting a mental line and fishing for the words. He didn’t want to speak ill of the dead ― well, he did actually, but he thought he probably shouldn’t ― but once all insults were removed, he found there was nothing else he could say about the wall’s previous occupant. 

“Rude, screamy and batshit crazy?” Draco offered dryly and Harry snorted a laugh. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watched Dobby cover his hands over his mouth to cover his _eek_ startled delight at the scion of the Malfoy family binning the former matriarch of the ancient, noble and fundamentally extinguished house of Black. Harry rather liked it himself, too. He winked at Dobby, turning to Draco with a smile. 

“So, you knew her, then?”

“Oh, no, not at all. Old Aunty Wally had a reputation among the family, though, for being completely and utterly awful, and given my family and their respective reputation and proclivities, well. I’m sure you’ll agree that’s saying something, isn’t it?” 

Draco looked down, standing stiff and straight and chewing the inside of his cheek in a gesture Harry was starting to recognise as something Draco did when he was uncomfortable. No doubt he was keenly aware of the last situation in which the three of them had been in a room together. Harry didn’t really want to rehash the specifics of that event, personally. He knew Dobby held no hard feelings, because he was easily the most forgiving creature Harry had ever met. Harry also knew if he and Draco started talking about that night he’d end up asking things like “ _what was it like in the Manor with **him** all that time_?” and “ _you recognised me, didn’t you_?” and then where would they be? Talking about the past, that’s where, and Harry didn’t want to do that right now. He was having _fun_ , and he didn’t care that it was with Draco. He wanted to see where this was going to go, more than he could quite feasibly explain to himself, but it was exciting, and different, and _happening_. Harry could count on both hands and all ten toes the number of things that weren’t happening in his life right now, and in between Auror paperwork and the epic wank sessions in the shower, Draco’s presence was like a breath of fresh air in his stale and stuffy routine. He didn’t want the theme of this evening to turn into ‘ _Potter and Malfoy awkwardly mull over the past, and Potter spends the night once again in the company of empty takeout boxes and his imagination_ ’. Merlin knew they had enough history between them to keep them occupied for hours, but Harry seriously doubted that was going to get Draco into the mood to do...Well. Whatever he’d been suggesting when he prompted them to leave the pub. He needed to think of something to say to steer this back in a more pleasant direction, and away from Manors and Lestranges and other, similarly unsexy things. 

“Your mum’s all right,” Harry blurted, then grimaced. _Oh come on, how is that better_? He sighed, appalled with himself and convinced that he should shove one of Draco’s gloves in his mouth and keep it there, so as to prevent any future embarrassing gaffes. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

Draco’s tone was crisp, slightly defensive and suggested that Harry had better have a very good reason for having mentioned his mother and her relative alright-ness. 

“You said,” Harry ran a hand through his hair, tucking some of it behind one ear, “given your family is awful, or something, before,” Harry explained, internally cursing himself and his poor impulse control. _When you bring someone home with you, you mop-headed lummox, don't mention their fucking mother_. He was sure there was some rule of etiquette about that, but he had a long-standing habit of forgetting everything he ever knew about etiquette and appropriate behaviour when he was around Draco. Harry was pretty certain he was usually a very socially capable guy ― or at least he wasn’t this bad ― but Draco always had a way of getting under his skin and into his head, and now apparently into his pants as well. If he was completely honest, that wasn’t altogether an entirely new feeling for Harry. 

Somewhere, Ron was probably sitting up in bed with a start and whispering “I knew it! He wanted to shag him!” before drifting back into a peaceful, dreamless sleep. 

“Oh.” Draco blinked, an unusual expression settling over his sharp features. “I’ll be sure to pass that glowing assessment on to her,” he said stiffly. His cheeks were colouring again and his lips were pursed, but he didn’t look angry or offended. He looked faintly embarrassed, the way Hermione flushed sometimes when Harry complimented her or Ron gave her unexpected gifts. 

Harry’s stomach did another excited flip. Maybe he hadn’t just ruined this entirely. 

“Well,” Harry said as casually as he could, given his own face heating up slightly. “Having Mrs Black here was a bit of a bummer, actually,” Draco scoffed at the understatement, and Harry resisted a smile, “so after we finally got her unstuck ― which, believe me, was pain in the arse and a half ― I, uh. Well. Dobby’s much nicer,” he finished. Dobby beamed. 

“Harry Potter is very kind, sir, and Dobby is very happy to be on a wall.” He looked at Draco. “And to see you have a new friend to visit you!”

“Err.” Harry glanced at Draco and then back at Dobby’s portrait, feeling decidedly unsure about where this was going. 

“Yes, quite.” Draco cleared his throat. “You are looking well, Dobby,” he said, with the stiff politeness of the very well raised who find themselves in a very awkward situation. 

“And you, Master Draco, are looking much better than you did at the Manor, when Harry Potter and his friends were imprisoned!” Dobby squeaked happily. 

_Oh, god_.

“Ah, Dobby ―” Harry started, flicking a glance at Draco’s gobsmacked expression. 

“But never mind that! Oh, yes, Master Draco, it’s lovely for Harry Potter to have friends to visit him, especially since yesterday, oh, Harry Potter was saying ―”

“Oh no, nonono, Dobby, stop ―” Harry tried frantically, but to no avail. 

“― that he was so lonely in here he was about to lose what was left of his mind and probably die of sexual frustration, only to be found weeks later by a stray cat, in one of the upstairs bathrooms!” Dobby said brightly. “And now look, Master Draco is visiting, and he’s very handsome!” Dobby spread his small, painted hands like this was wonderful news. Harry felt like his glasses were fogging up with mortification. “ _And_ Dobby hasn’t seen a cat all day!”

Harry shut his eyes, cringing so hard he felt like he was about to sprain a muscle in his forehead. He exhaled, fighting the urge to bury his face in his hands and wondering for the millionth time why the hell he kept talking to himself within earshot of Dobby’s portrait ― this wasn’t the first time Dobby’d subsequently dropped an embarrassing clanger in front of company as a result of what he’d heard Harry grumble to himself. 

Beside him, Harry heard Draco make a strange sound, which seemed to be somewhere between a groan and a choke. He was either trying not to laugh, or having a stroke. Harry couldn't tell which one was worse than the other. He slowly opened one eye, glancing over from Dobby to Draco, who blinked slowly once, twice, then turned to Harry. He opened his mouth, lips forming a round O as he seemed to be still trying to process what Dobby had said. Amusement creased the corners of Draco’s eyes. _The fucker_ , Harry cursed internally. _He’s enjoying this_. 

“Look, I was exaggerating ―” Harry started, but Draco cut him off with a soft, 

“Tell me, do you have a large cat problem, Harry?” 

“A cat prob ― oh. No.” Harry lifted one shoulder defensively at Draco’s smirk. “It’s just... one small cat, actually,” he explained, “and it’s not a problem. It’s just a stray I feed.” He lifted his head, setting his jaw defiantly. 

“Called Pumpkin!” Dobby added proudly, hopping from one foot to the other. Harry dropped his head again, groaning. 

“How very charitable of you,” Draco drawled and Harry pursed his lips, glaring up through his fringe. “And am I to understand this cat ― Pumpkin, was it, thank you Dobby ―” Harry couldn't mistake the gleeful tone that had entered Draco’s voice as he popped the P of Pumpkin, “is responsible for your general wellbeing,” Draco smiled, “as well as bathroom maintenance apparently?” 

Draco smiled sweetly, colour high on the apples of his cheeks. Harry clenched his jaw, colour high on the everything of his cheeks as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

“I didn’t name the cat,” he stated with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Of course you didn’t.”

“It was Luna!”

“How very convenient.”

Harry glared. Dobby squeaked. Draco continued to smirk. 

After a moment that stretched on slightly too far. Harry began to feel Draco’s gaze turning expectant.

“Well,” Draco clapped his hands together, the sound making Harry blink and stand a little straighter, “it has been been thrilling in your exceptionally long hallway, Potter,” he said. Harry stared back sullenly, trying to think of something witty to say. He couldn't, but he felt he deserved points for effort, even if it didn’t quite merit a whole House Cup. 

“I do wonder if the _rest_ of the house is as nice as this,” Draco said pointedly, raising one pale eyebrow and looking at Harry as though he was very thick. Harry had no idea what Draco was on about, unless this was a new way for him to give Harry hell about where he lived. 

Draco sighed. 

“Oh, for the love of…invite me in, offer me a _drink_ , Harry!” Draco exclaimed, cutting through the awkwardness. “As charming as discussing my mother and the strange things you do with the cats you’ve hired as the domestic help may be,” Draco held a hand up to cut off Harry's indignant squawk, “the usual etiquette would have been to stop loitering in the bloody doorway by now.”

“We weren’t _loitering_ , we were talking with…” Harry glanced at the now empty portrait, Dobby having presumably buggered off to pester Kreacher. Harry shook his head. “Whatever, you don't need to get so...snitty with me,” Harry griped. 

“ _Snitty_?” 

“Yes.”

“That is not a word,” Draco corrected haughtily. 

“It is.” 

“It is not.” 

“Well, I just said it, so,” Harry shrugged, enjoying Draco’s annoyed glance. 

Draco’s mouth turned down as he looked down his nose at Harry. 

“The ability to arrange a series of consonants and vowels into a discernible sound and then force them out of your mouth does not an actual word make, Harry. You won't find “ _being snitty_ ” in any reputable dictionary, I'd guarantee you that.” 

“And yet,” Harry smiled, “I find it standing in front of me right now.” 

He smirked a little wider as Draco narrowed his eyes, folding his arms across his chest once more. He couldn't but notice, though, that despite the glower, the corner of Draco’s mouth twitched, pulled up by an involuntary smile. He looked up at Harry through the swoop of his fair fringe, and Harry swallowed, his own eyes creasing with mirth. He was internally crowing at getting Draco on the back foot for once, and he was externally feeling a bit hot and bothered again. It was bizarre that someone could annoy him so much and yet turn him in equal measures at the same time. He wondered if he had the same effect on Draco.

“Well, snitty or otherwise, I am still in your fucking hallway,” Draco said lightly, his head tilted back at a cocky angle.

Harry grinned. 

“Would you like a drink, Draco?” he offered politely, outright beaming now. 

Draco smiled back, genuine and wide, and somehow predatory at the same time, and Harry felt the room get a little hotter still. He wasn't used to seeing Draco smile like _that_. 

“No, thank you,” Draco replied pleasantly, pushing past Harry. 

Harry frowned, mouth open in confusion. 

“But, you just ―” 

“I did,” Draco turned, swivelling on one heel, “but we are both well aware that I'm not here for a night cap.” He ran his hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face with his long fingers. His left cheek dimpled as he smiled, expression heated as his gaze travelled down Harry’s chest and back to his eyes. “Aren't we, Harry?” he said in a low voice. 

_Oh_. 

“Oh,” Harry said stupidly, swallowing hard. 

“Indeed.” Draco stalked back slowly, floorboards creaking slightly under his steps. He stopped a foot or so in front of Harry, eyes moving from his lips then back again and his mouth still curved into that slow, heated smile. 

“Bedroom upstairs, then, is it?” he asked quietly. 

Harry nodded, his heart beating hard in his chest and his palms slightly sweaty. He wiped them on his jeans. 

“Good. Then I suggest we go there.” Draco licked his lips, stepping closer to run them around the shell of Harry’s ear. “Because I’d quite like to take this somewhere private,” he whispered. Harry felt goosebumps prickle down his neck, suppressing a shiver when Draco pressed his lips against the tender spot at the curve of Harry’s jaw. 

He nodded absently, starting slightly when he felt Draco's knuckles run over his stomach. It was a warm night, and he’d left his jumper off, shrinking it discreetly and tucking it away into his pocket, which left him only a thin t-shirt. Draco’s fingers felt alarmingly close, the first brush of actual contact surprisingly intimate, and Harry suddenly wished, fervently and with all his being, that he’d left his stupid jumper on. 

Because he was _hard_. 

Draco had touched Harry’s stomach, gently run his fingers over his abdomen and then lower past his navel, and if he looked down he was going to be able to see exactly what kind of reaction Harry had had to that. 

“Yeah,” Harry murmured, trying not to squirm as Draco trailed his fingers lower, rested his thumb on Harry’s belt. “Bedroom’s upstairs.” 

“Mm,” Draco ran his lips across Harry’s cheek, gently over the scratch of a day’s stubble. Harry pulled his own lip between his teeth, breathing out through his nose and trying not to make too much sound. Draco was barely touching him, and yet Harry felt as ridiculously turned on as he ever had in his life. When Draco lowered his lips slightly to kiss the corner of Harry’s mouth, open mouthed and wet, Harry gave in. He sighed, loud and shaky, and felt Draco hum in response. 

He tucked his fingers into the hem of Harry’s jeans. 

Harry gasped, then swallowed it down, trying to regulate his breathing and not to choke as he felt the barest touch of Draco’s fingers against the head of his cock. There was no way Draco hadn’t noticed, not with his hand where it was, or with Harry’s breathing as loud as it was in the quiet of the empty house. 

Harry inhaled sharply when Draco ran his fingers along the the hem of his jeans, almost touching his cock again before instead lifting away to gently tug at one of the denim loops. Harry frowned.

“Draco, what ―” 

“Come on,” Draco said against Harry’s mouth, stepping backwards. Harry belatedly stepped forward too, letting Draco pull him towards the dark wooden bannister of the stairs. He rested his hands on Draco’s hips to steady himself, fingers slipping easily underneath the soft fall of his expensive, woollen robe, and Draco made another pleased sound. He pulled away, taking another step backwards, and Harry let himself be led. 

“You have to tell me which way to go.” 

Draco swiped his lips across Harry’s, almost a kiss. It felt brilliant and at the same time not remotely enough, and Harry leant into it, almost overbalancing before Draco steadied him. He ran his free hand over Harry’s chest, up to the back of his neck, and stopped. He slipped his fingers over Harry’s nape, massaged gently at the sensitive skin and then tugged slightly at the hair there, and Harry moaned, mouth open and forehead resting against Draco’s. _Not even a kiss_ , he told himself again, feeling slightly incredulous ― at himself, at this, at everything. His cock was hard, pressing tight against his jeans, and he could feel the warmth of Draco’s chest coming through his shirt. It had been so long since he’d been with anyone ― months ― but even then it had never been like this. He didn't know how in the hell he had ended up here, or why it felt so good, made him react so easily. He felt aware of every point of his body Draco was touching, everywhere he _wanted_ Draco to touch him. He felt brilliant. 

Draco tugged at his hair again. 

“You have to tell me which way, Harry,” he repeated, the soft insistence in his voice making Harry look up through the messy fall of his own hair. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like Draco wasn't asking purely for directions to Harry’s bedroom, that there was some other kind of permission he was asking for. Harry blinked, thumbs curving distracted circles over the jut of Draco’s hip bones and eyes focused on the shape of Draco’s lips. He was hard, his cock tenting his jeans and inches from the tips of Draco’s long fingers, and he was barely inside his own house ― wherever Draco was planning on taking this was where Harry wanted to go. 

He didn't know to say that, not without feeling ridiculous, over eager and over invested in what had barely even started ― so he kissed Draco instead. 

Harry wasn’t sure if he was a good kisser or not. He’d never done that much of it, back at Hogwarts, and he and Ginny had never really been the types to sit around and snog; they tended to have a much more mercenary approach to sex, and got down to it pretty fast. Romance wasn’t really their _thing_. Draco, on the other hand ― well, Harry felt he could safely say Draco was _very_ good at this. After having recovered from the initial surprise of Harry’s kiss-instead-of-answer-like-an-adult approach to whether he was okay with what Draco was initiating, Draco parted his lips, kissing Harry back and taking this as the unspoken message Harry intended it to be. His lips were soft, softer somehow than Harry had been expecting, and his mouth tasted faintly of cinnamon and Vermouth, remnants of their earlier drink. Harry let his own mouth fall open, tilting his head and letting Draco slip his tongue inside. He felt his shoulders draw up slightly at how _good_ that felt, fingers tightening on Draco’s waist. His own hips canted forwards when Draco let the heel of his palm rest against the line of Harry’s cock, pressing gently down against it through Harry’s jeans. 

“Oh, f ―” 

Harry swallowed, moving his hands up Draco’s sides and bunching up the material of his shirt. He wanted to pull it up, untuck it, to get his hands on the hot skin and smooth muscle he knew was under there, but he wasn’t sure what the etiquette was here, what the appropriate reaction to Draco was. He didn’t want to move too fast, to upset whatever pace Draco was setting. He left his hands at Draco’s ribs, instead, kissing him distractedly and fighting not to roll his hips against the press of Draco’s palm. Draco made an appreciative sound, moving his hand down Harry’s jeans, spreading his fingers and measuring the length of Harry’s cock. Harry breathed out hard through his nose, flexing and unflexing his fingers against Draco’s ribs. Draco was slim, all wiry, toned muscle and Harry could feel them as he moved his hands up and down Draco’s sides, ran his thumbs down the line of Draco’s abdomen. 

Draco groaned, low and deep, grabbing at Harry’s jeans again and pulling Harry forwards. 

It was awkward, clumsy, Draco leading Harry by the belt loops in his jeans and Harry trying to walk properly, to keep kissing Draco with some semblance of coordination, and not do anything too embarrassing like come in his pants from the feeling of Draco against him. The last one became even more of an issue when Draco ran his mouth over Harry’s, pulling his lower lip between his own. He rolled it gently, sucking over the sensitive skin and Harry stumbled slightly, his groan muffled against Draco’s mouth. Draco laced one arm around Harry’s neck, pulling Harry closer and kissing him harder, deeper than before. Harry pressed them against each other chest to chest as Draco continued to walk them backwards, until Draco stopped, huffing a surprised sound as his back hit the banister of the staircase. 

“Ow,” Draco breathed and Harry pulled away, starting an apology. He stopped when Draco canted his hips, kissing him fiercely and sucking Harry’s tongue into his mouth. 

“Shut up,” Draco mumbled, the hint of a smile playing around his lips as he kissed down Harry’s jaw, using the leverage of the bannister behind him to push his groin against Harry’s. Harry made a garbled noise, tilting his head to give Draco better access. He gripped Draco’s sides harder, moving his hands down to his hips. He could feel Draco’s cock through the thin material of his expensive trousers, could feel the way it ground against his thigh and he pressed forward himself, breath hitching again when Draco’s nipped at his jaw, then kissed over his chin and back to his mouth. 

“There’s no way we’ll ― _ah_ ― make it up the stairs like this,” Harry mumbled, kissing the corner of Draco’s mouth and breathing hard. He steadied one hand against the wall, nails scratching over the faint bumps of the new paint he’d only recently replaced the hideous and decrepit wall paper with. 

“You're right,” Draco breathed, shaking his head to flick some of his hair away from his eyes, only for it fall right back. Harry pulled away, brushing his hair aside too, and resisting the urge to do the same to Draco. A few soft strands had fallen across one brow, almost tickling the highest ridge of Draco’s cheekbone. Harry thought that was probably a weird thing to be turned on by, but nothing made sense this evening so he went with it as Draco pushed him forwards, two steps, then leant back up against the wall. 

“Here’ll do,” Draco said with a slow, heated smile, as he moved one hand to grip himself through his trousers.

Harry bit his lip, worrying at it as he watched Draco touch himself. Draco canted his hips away from the wall, the outline of his erection clearly visible through his trousers as he moved his long, pale fingers over it. 

Draco licked his lips, then smirked. 

“Participation is encouraged, Harry,” he teased in a low voice, eyes crinkling with mirth as Harry laughed, once, surprised and turned on beyond belief. Only Malfoy could wank in someone else’s hallway and make _them_ feel like were the idiot. 

“Do you ever stop?” Harry asked, leaning his hands against the wall behind Draco’s head and pressing himself against the sturdy shape of Draco’s thigh. 

Harry felt a soft puff of air against his cheek as Draco laughed, rolling his hips against his own palm. 

“Only when people actually want me to,” Draco whispered, smirking, and Harry opened his mouth to reply then frowned and kissed Draco instead in lieu of thinking too much about the startling veracity of that statement. 

He moved one hand to Draco’s face, cupped his jaw. His fingers barely touched the soft hair at Draco’s nape as he ran one thumb down the line of Draco’s neck, and Harry suppressed another hitching sound at that. He was never usually this vocal, wasn’t prone to making this amount of sound, not this early on in the proceedings at least, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep quiet. 

He found it even more difficult when Draco moved his hand from his own groin to Harry’s. 

Harry swallowed down his groan as Draco gripped him, his fingers moving firmly over his cock through the stiff denim of Harry’s jeans before quickly moving to undo his belt, his fly. Draco hummed as he pulled Harry’s zip down, the sound loud in the quiet hallway, before he pushed Harry’s jeans down low on his hips. Harry exhaled shakily when Draco slipped his hand into his pants, wrapping his fingers around the length of his cock and pulling it fully free from his underwear. Harry’s mouth dropped open, his fingers curling into a fist against the wall as he tried to keep his hips still. 

He frowned at the sound Draco made, something between surprise and arousal, as he looked down between them. 

“Fucking hell, Potter,” Draco said, shaking his head and laughing breathlessly. “Figures, doesn’t it?”

“What?” Harry asked, blinking his hair out of his eyes, he shook his head once when it fell right back across his brow, tickling over his glasses. “What figures?” he panted, rolling his hips and pushing himself into Draco’s loosely curled fingers, chasing any friction he could get.

Draco looked up at him through his fringe, then leant forward. His breath tickled the edge of Harry’s jaw.

“Figures you’d be massive,” Draco murmured heatedly, sucking on Harry’s earlobe and tightening his fist around Harry’s cock. Harry choked out a strangled sound, a laugh chasing the heels of a groan.

“I didn’t do it to spite you,” he gasped, giving in to temptation and rolling his hips, pushing himself up into Draco’s hand. 

Draco grinned, a flash of white teeth and something else flashing in his eyes. He kissed Harry once, deeply, pushing his tongue between Harry’s lips and then pulling away again when Harry tried to deepen the kiss. Harry groaned at the loss. 

“For once, Harry, I’m okay with you being a terrible show-off,” he whispered, squeezing Harry one last time before sliding down the wall and dropping to his knees. 

“Oh, _shit_!”

Harry’s knuckles scraped against the wall as he watched with wide eyes as Draco pulled Harry’s jeans down further. Draco moved closer, mouth wide as he ran his lips over the head and pushing Harry’s t-shirt up with one hand. His fingertips skimmed the hard muscle of Harry’s stomach, over the smattering of hair under his navel, and Harry felt his belly twitch away as Draco wrapped his lips around his cock, tongue flicking out against it. 

He gasped when Draco moved his mouth, his free hand gripping the base as Draco swallowed him down. Harry’s hips jerked forwards, cock touching the back of Draco’s throat. He pulled back quickly. 

“Sorr ― ah!”

Harry groaned as Draco grabbed his hips, kept him where he was. His fingers were strong, insistent, and Draco widened his mouth as he bobbed his head back and forth in the small amount of room between the wall and Harry’s hips. Harry unfolded his fingers, resting his weight on his palms and tentatively beginning to thrust between Draco's lips. He did it again a little harder when he heard Draco hum, felt his fingers tighten on his hips as they encouraged him forwards. Harry could feel the sweat gathering in the small of his back, feel his skin flushed and feverish as he inched his cock forwards, back, forwards again. He’d never done something quite like this, and definitely not in the hallway of Grimmauld Place before, and he exhaled on another low moan as he felt his cock slide between Draco’s lips, over the warmth of his tongue, and then out again. God, he wanted to come. 

Impulsively, Harry moved his hand to Draco’s face, felt the shape of his own cock as he ran his fingers over Draco’s smooth cheek, and he groaned again, moving his hand to tangle into the soft strands of Draco’s hair. Draco made an appreciative sound, his own breathing laboured and loud as he inhaled through his nose, and rested his head back against the wall. Harry groaned as the change in position let him slide in deeper, as Draco’s hands moved to grip his arse cheeks and set a faster, almost dizzyingly good pace. He felt his head fall forwards, glasses slipping precariously down his nose, and he let them. He’d have to either remove his hand from Draco's head, which he didn’t want to do, or move his other hand from where it was braced against the wall, in which case he was going to fall over; there was no way he could rely on his shaking legs to keep him upright, not with Draco’s mouth moving on him like that, his hands setting the pace with which Harry thrust between his lips. 

Draco moaned again, the vibrations shooting up his cock and making Harry’s balls tighten, as he moved one hand between his own legs to touch himself. Harry could see Draco’s arm moving, his trousers now undone and fingers moving over his cock. Harry bit his lip, his hips pumping forwards erratically as he looked down the length of his body, eyes glued to the movement of Draco’s arm. His view was obscured mostly, but the idea of Draco touching himself, those clever fingers moving over his own cock, was enough to make Harry groan, mouth open and palm wide against the wall. 

“Oh, god, I’m ―” he swallowed, trying to pull back. “I’m gonna, _shit_ Draco, I’m ―”

Draco hummed again, jaw relaxed and fingers tense as he held Harry where he was, and Harry grunted, strangled and loud, as he came. He felt Draco's throat working around his cock as he swallowed pulse after pulse, and Harry panted, fingers tight in Draco’s hair and knees buckling lightly as he rode wave after wave of pleasure out. He shut his eyes, head dropping forward on his ragdoll neck as he breathed out heavily. Draco’s mouth pulled away from his over-sensitive cock. He felt Draco’s mouth over his belly, lips on the muscles of his stomach ― and then the sudden jolt of teeth as Draco came himself, breath hot and hurried as he bit at Harry’s skin. Harry opened his eyes again at that, curving his hand around the back of Draco’s head as Draco groaned, coming over his own fist, the base of Harry’s jeans. 

Harry let his forehead thump against the wall, exhaling heavily as he tried to process why that was so fucking hot. He righted himself again when he felt Draco’s free hand slap gently against his bare arse. 

“Nhuh?” 

“Move, Potter,” Draco rasped, his throat slightly raw as he caught his breath. “My legs are killing me.”

“Oh.” 

Harry stepped back, one hand still resting on the wall for support as Draco stood up. His lips were pink and flushed, his hair somewhat mussed from Harry’s hand, and his chest heaving slightly. Harry jolted in surprise when Draco grabbed his t-shirt, pulling him forward. He smirked as he wiped his come-stained fingers on the base of the white material. Harry laughed faintly, not having the energy or the inclination to tell Draco to stop; it was the least he could do, after Draco had just given him what was ostensibly the best blow job of his life. 

Draco looked somewhat smug, as if this fact wasn’t lost on him. Draco’s mouth opened as he was about to speak, and Harry felt a strange urgency in his chest.

“Well, Harry ―” Draco began, but Harry cut him off. 

“Stay,” he blurted suddenly, his voice slightly rough, slightly off. 

Draco looked at him strangely. “Pardon?” 

“Stay. Don’t go yet.” Harry straightened, trying to compose himself, but he felt boneless, lethargic, warm and _good_ , the way that only sex could make him feel.

“Stay the _night_?”

“Yeah,” Harry insisted, his voice earnest and his heart strangely set on Draco not leaving. He didn't know why, exactly, but he didn't want Draco to go. Not yet, anyway. 

Draco’s mouth turned down as he looked at Harry sideways. He narrowed his eyes, lips pursing slightly as he studied Harry’s expression. 

After a moment that seemed to stretch far longer that it really did, Draco let go of Harry’s t-shirt. 

“I sleep on the left side,” he said firmly. “No discussion.” 

“That’s fine,” Harry replied, mouth turning down as he tried to keep the idiotic smile from tilting his mouth up the way it wanted to. He looked away, saw Draco nod stiffly out of the corner of his eye. 

“If you snore, I'm leaving.” 

“I don't snore,” Harry laughed, then cleared his throat. He felt all over the place, giggling like an idiot. He needed to get a grip, he told himself. 

Draco continued to frown, as if he was deeply suspicious this was some kind of trap. Or perhaps he just didn't believe Harry about the snoring. Either way, there was something wary dancing in his eyes, something like trepidation, at why Harry wanted him to stay. Harry wasn’t entirely sure why he did himself, but he was more accustomed to following his instinct rather than his brain, and while caution was saying “ _you’re being a bit weird, Harry, it was just a blow job. Try not to be a complete tit and propose_ ” his gut was saying “ _get him to stay!_ ” 

His gut was also telling him he shouldn't have skipped dinner, Harry thought as he righted his jeans, but that was neither here nor there. 

“I'll need something to sleep in. Something _decent_ ,” Draco added, tucking himself away too, “and to know where a bathroom is.” Draco straightened. “Preferably one you're not planning on dying in any time soon.”

“Right, yeah.” Harry smoothed his hand over his mouth, feeling reckless and giddy and so good he didn't quite have a word for it. It was ridiculous. He really, really liked it. “Um, I’ve got spares. Something will fit you. They’re decent, too.” 

“Says the man in come stained jeans with a rip in the knee.”

“You did that!”

“I ripped nothing,” Draco said, folding his arms and smirking as he leant back against the wall.

Harry shook his head, then sniffed, pushing down a strange curl of warmth in his belly at Draco sleeping in his clothes, even though Draco didn’t look overly impressed by the idea. 

Harry wanted to kiss him again. He bit his own lip instead.

“I have clean pyjamas without rips,” he said lightly. “And I’ll show you where the loos are ―”

“I said bathroom, Potter, not _toilet_ ,” Draco interrupted, indignantly. “I need to wash my face, clean my teeth,” he said, raising one eyebrow pointedly and Harry flushed at the reminder of where Draco’s mouth had just been. 

“Yeah, sure.” Harry shrugged. “There’s that, too. It’s...S’all this way,” he said, pointing redundantly at the stairs and beginning to ascend before either of them could come to their senses and think what they were doing through. 

He bit his lip as he heard the sound of Draco’s footsteps on the steps, creaking in time with his own.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are love! Come find me on [LJ ](http://shiftylinguini.livejournal.com/profile/)or [tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard)<3


	4. Beetroots and Virtue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has either lost his mind or is in the process of doing so, because surely there’s no another reasonable explanation for him doing something so out of character as agreeing to stay the night with Potter, or continuing to find his company enjoyable.
> 
> It’s almost as if he likes the stupid git.

***

This was not part of the plan.

Admittedly, Draco hadn’t really had a plan for how this evening would go. He was just going to get the life modelling gig over and done with, and then go and bother Pansy for a bit with a tirade about how dull it was sitting with his bollocks out, in a cold room full of strangers who couldn't draw aforementioned bollocks to save their lives. Standard Tuesday night, really. It was not an understatement, then, to say that the evening had taken a drastically different turn when he’d seen Potter of all people there, and had quickly noticed Potter’s _interest_ tenting his trousers. Taking both Potter and his unmentionables out for a galleon of unpronounceable cocktails and snarky sexual tension ― well there was always room in Draco’s schedule for that sort of thing. 

But flirting wildly with Harry amidst questionable French-style decor and then blowing him in his hallway was one thing, and one that Draco was very okay with doing. Staying the night with him, though, and sleeping in his bed upon request, presumably inches from the man himself, was...something else. That was not part of any plan that Draco had ever had ― at least not one he was willing to let come to the forefront of his mind; he suspected his subconscious had a few different things to say about that, but his subconscious could slink back down to where it came from, thank you very much. He still wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to stay the night in the first place, or made a point of asking to borrow a pair Harry’s ― frankly hideous ― night garments. 

Draco’d slept with his fair share of people, but he did not follow that up with staying at their houses. He didn’t have a rule about it, because as far as he was concerned the answer was always so unequivocally ‘ _no thanks, I’ll see myself out_ ’ that he didn’t need one. He was incredibly confused as to why he’d taken Harry up on his request. Perhaps the intensity of the blow job had done some damage to his brain, Draco pondered sardonically as he finished washing his face. Surely there was no other explanation for why he hadn’t made his exit as soon as they’d both zipped back up, and why he was instead still loitering in an upstairs bathroom. 

Especially one with what looked like a Troll’s arm towel rack. 

Draco cracked his neck, tentatively taking a towel from the offending rack and being careful to touch it as little as possible. He held it between thumb and forefinger, then wiped his face with it. He twisted his neck to the other side. It hurt a little, and his legs were aching too, both thanks to the awkward position he’d found himself in earlier that evening. His throat felt like it had had, basically, a cock rammed down it ― and an impressive cock at that. All in all, Draco felt brilliant. And very confused. He also _strongly_ felt like agreeing to stay the night was a really bad idea. Like, colossally bad. Like, dressing up in his father’s best robes and cloak, including his pointy dress shoes, and then tripping over and managed to smash both a mirror and the tip of his father’s rather expensive, bespoke cane levels of _bad_. Not that Draco had done that necessarily, except he absolutely had, and the feeling of _‘oh god, you idiot, run_ ’ he had then was resoundingly similar to the one he had right now. 

Draco sighed at his reflection, which stared back at him balefully. _Fat lot of use you are_ , he griped internally at it. He looked down at the white t-shirt and the pair of dark sweatpants he held in his hands, then back up to the mirror, grey eyes still wide and brow creased into a disbelieving frown. 

What the fuck was he doing?

He pursed his lips. He had three options, now. Two, really, once he accepted that climbing out a window and absconding into the night wasn’t really feasible. One, he could go out there, fake a sudden illness or malaise and leave, putting this whole almost-staying-the-night debacle down as the result of some kind of cock madness, and then never think about it again. 

Or, he could just get in Harry Potter’s borrowed PJs and stay the bloody night. Worst case scenario, Harry suddenly remembered he hated Draco and strangled him in his sleep before using his Auror connections to cover it up. Draco would then be reduced to haunting him for the rest of his life, which, truth be told, he suspected he’d be rather good at. He was great at getting on Harry’s nerves now, so it stood to reason he’d continue to excel at driving him up the wall from the afterlife. 

And the best case scenario? Draco got Harry’s clothes off again. Draco exhaled, feeling his cheeks flush slightly as he worried his lip. Getting Potter undressed definitely had some perks that could counter any potential strangulation and spectral consequences. It was a risk he was willing to take, Draco decided, as he undid the top buttons of his shirt, finally peeling the garment off and moving onto his trousers. He quickly finished undressing, then pulled on Harry’s shirt, which was too plain to really be offensive no matter how hard Draco tried to find it horrible. He moved on to the dreaded sweatpants, which he found annoyingly comfortable. He hadn’t left his underwear on underneath ― he was no heathen, of course ― and he suddenly felt acutely aware of that fact as he felt the soft wool against his bare skin. There was something oddly, suddenly, erotic about wearing Harry’s clothes with nothing on underneath. They even smelled a little bit like him, Draco imagined, perhaps a hint of the cologne Harry wore mingling with the soft, clean smell of detergent. He bent down, inhaling deeply as he fingered the hem of the t-shirt. He breathed out sharply, shaking his head. Or perhaps it was just a t-shirt and Draco was losing his marbles, he thought as he tied the drawstring of the sweatpants into a rough knot. Once done dressing, he took a steadying breath and opened the door, hoping he wasn’t walking out to certain nocturnal death. 

Instead he just found himself in Harry Potter’s bedroom, face to face with one of the most bizarrely tense yet domestic scenes he’d ever encountered. Harry was already in bed, sitting up against the headboard in a grey singlet, and with the deep green covers pulled up to his waist. His hair looked like an attempt to brush it had been made, his glasses curiously devoid of smudges. The room was pleasantly warmed by a heating charm, and overall, the scene was quite inviting. Except of course, for the fact that Harry was looking at him like he was expecting the roof to fall on them both any minute now. 

“You’re wearing my clothes,” Harry said, voice tinged with surprise. Draco blinked at him, slowly. 

“Yes, you may recall giving them to me,” he deadpanned.

“No, yeah. I do. It’s just.” Harry swallowed. “It’s weird seeing you in them. Not bad weird!” Harry clarified, as Draco’s expression hardened. “They look like they fit.” Harry cleared his throat, looking away. “I mean. Um. Do they fit?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Draco said after a long moment. He pursed his lips, folding his arms across his chest as Harry fidgeted. Bloody hell, this entire setup was even more impossibly awkward than he’d anticipated. Perhaps he should have climbed out the window after all. 

“Oh, good,” Harry breathed. “Well, if they don’t, or you don’t like them, then I have others―” 

“I said they fit,” Draco snapped. After a moment, Harry nodded. 

They lapsed back into silence. 

Draco resisted the urge to shuffle from foot to foot, deciding instead to lay his own neatly folded clothes down on a chest of drawers by the wall. At least, he tried to lay them down gently; there was really very little space on there that wasn’t already occupied by random items of clothing, a few old Quidditch magazines, and what looked like a dismantled Sneakoscope in a shoebox. 

Draco turned around to find Harry still staring at him apprehensively. Merlin’s tits, but this was awkward. 

Draco scowled.

“Potter, this won’t do at all,” he huffed. Draco looked pointedly at Harry, who shifted in the bed uneasily. He looked down in confusion at the covers as if trying to pinpoint the exact location of whatever as causing Draco’s ire. 

“What, no, I’m on the right side, and you said ―” Harry started, but Draco shook his head. 

“No, Potter, _this_!” He waved his hand at Harry’s stiff posture, his tense shoulders, and the look of nervous apprehension still on his face. “Yes, granted, you have vacated the left side. But you look like you’ve just been sold to me by your penniless, farmer father in exchange for me lowering the taxes on his beetroot crop.”

Harry blinked, and then again. He frowned

“I look like I’ve what ―” he began but Draco cut him off. 

“Relax, Potter, is what I’m trying to say!” Draco said in a distinctly uptight and unrelaxed manner. Harry stared back, mouth open and face twisted in confusion and annoyance. Draco sighed, then rubbed his temple. 

“For Merlin’s sake, stop looking at me like that!” he continued. He wasn’t sure what Harry was expecting would happen now that Draco was back in the room, but from the look on his face he was more than a little uncertain about what it involve. He was possibly even regretting asking Draco to stay the night, which would not do at _all_ as far as Draco was concerned. Draco was well aware the he himself was having so many second thoughts about being here that they were numbering in the double digits, but he didn’t want Harry to be doing that too. That was just being a bad host. 

“Your virtue is safe with me,” Draco added, doing his best to smirk cockily.

He stopped when he saw Harry blush. 

“My...virtue?” Harry responded slowly, raising his eyebrows. After a moment Draco flushed too. 

“Oh, right.” Draco cleared his throat, waving his hand. “Well, I mean. Whatever virtue you have left after what happened downstairs is safe with me. So you can stop looking like you’re about to be thrown to lusty Mermen, or whatever.”

“Lusty _Mermen_?” Harry replied, expression horrified, and Draco dropped his arms to his sides in exasperation. 

“I said, or whatever!” explained Draco. “You can insert a different rampaging sexual beast there instead, if you prefer.”

Harry’s expression turned almost comically indignant as he looked at Draco like he’d completely lost the plot. 

“I’d prefer _no_ rampaging sexual beasts to be inserted anywhere, if it’s all the same to you ―”

“No, I didn’t ―” Draco growled in irritation. “The beasts are metaphorical!” he exclaimed. “I just meant, you don’t need to look so...uptight!” 

“I wasn’t ―” Harry looked away, shaking his head slightly, but he looked like he was trying not to smile. He sighed. “Yeah, alright, point taken. Likewise, I guess.”

It was Draco’s turn to scowl. 

“Excuse me, I don’t need any protection from the likes of you,” he griped.

“You can fend off the Mermen yourself, can you?” Harry shot back, mouth twisting into a smirk. 

Draco scowled harder, but Harry’s smile only broadened, one cheek dimpling as he flipped the corner of the dark green duvet over. 

“Come on, get in.” 

“Oh, who could refuse an invitation like that.”

“Just get in, would you?”

Draco glowered for a bit longer, mostly out of habit than lingering annoyance, before he eventually gave up and padded over to the bed. He sat down and slipped his legs under the covers. The mattress was surprisingly unlumpy, for something which Harry owed, and the duvet was thick and warm. Goose down, Draco thought it might be, and he was about to ask when he turned to instead find Harry watching him, a curious expression on his face. 

“Malfoy,” Harry said seriously, “Tell me honestly.” Harry paused, and Draco recoiled slightly. 

“Tell you what?” he asked, holding his breath and trying not to finish that sentence in his head. 

“Do you need me to check under the bed for any sex beasts?”

“Oh, for ―” Draco glared, then turned away. “Merlin almighty, I was just trying to ―” He gave up when he heard Harry’s laughter, contenting himself with pummelling the pillow into shape instead and refusing to let himself smile back at Harry. The pillow was also surprisingly decent and unlumpy, and Draco concentrated on getting it into a position he liked and not on how oddly comforting and enjoyable it was bickering with Harry. No one ever really bit back as satisfyingly as he did, and nor did they get Draco on the back foot the way Harry was able to do. It drove Draco insane, and he really, really, _really_ liked it. 

He’d possibly even missed it since leaving Hogwarts. 

“I’m gonna turn the light off now, yeah?” Harry said to the back of Draco’s head. 

“How clever of you,” Draco shot back, lying down. He heard another chuckle from Harry, a soft click, and the room was plunged into darkness. 

Draco let his eyes adjust for a moment, letting the dark shapes of the room come through the sudden darkness. If he turned his head a little he could make out Harry’s form, could feel the rustle of the covers and the movement of the bed as Harry got comfortable. He heard the click of Harry removing and folding up his glasses, then placing them on the bedside table. There were two matching bedside tables, one on either side, and it struck Draco as so oddly domestic and _coupley_ that he suddenly wondered if Potter was really living as revoltingly single a life as he’d made out he was. Bachelors didn’t need rooms with two bedside tables, although to be fair one on its own would look a bit weird, considering the way the room was set up. Draco stared at the ceiling, resisting the urge to squirm. He shouldn't be here, he thought for what must be the eighth time this evening. He definitely should not be finding arguing with Harry fun or endearing, and he really should not be thinking about the significance of bedside tables in any sense beyond a vague appraisal of how well it could hold Draco’s night time glass of water. There was absolutely no reason why Draco should care if Potter had one, two, or thirty fucking five bedside tables, Draco chastised himself as he shifted his legs, stretching them out until his toes touched ― 

“Fucking hell!” Draco all but shouted, sitting up abruptly. 

“What?” Harry shot up, turning the light on in alarm. 

“Your _feet_!” Draco exclaimed, and Harry stared back blankly.

“What about them?”

“Do you have some kind of circulation problem?” Draco asked in a measured tone. “Or possibly a rare form of long-term frostbite?”

“No ―”

“Because your feet are without a doubt the coldest thing that has ever come into contact with any part of my anatomy. _Ever_ ,” Draco finished with a glare. Harry returned it. 

“I thought you dated Parkinson,” Harry snapped after a moment. 

Draco's mouth dropped open. He folded his arms and indignantly dropped back down against the pillow. 

“Leave my friends out of this.”

“Leave my feet out of this.” 

“Keep them away from me, then ―”

“All _right_!” Harry flopped down against his own pillow. “Bloody hell, you don’t need to make such a production out of everything!” he groused. After a moment, Draco lay down too and Harry lifted his legs up and away from him. The gesture left him lying at an odd angle and was in itself so immature and childish, and something Draco had been about to do himself, that he found he had to suppress a laugh. He pretended it was a cough instead. 

“I’m assuming you don’t have people around that often,” he said after a moment.

“What gave it away?” Harry grumbled in reply.

“Honestly?” Draco felt Harry shrug, the covers moving with him. “It was the socks on the floor, the take out container I saw on the chest of drawers over there, and...” Draco smiled. “The air of virgin bride that was emanating from you when I walked in did rather give it away, too.” 

Harry flushed as red as the beetroots Draco had speculated his hypothetical father grew. Draco grinned. 

He knew he’d been shamelessly canvassing for information on the real state of Harry’s love life by bringing this up, and he couldn’t quash his delight at this apparent confirmation that the presence of two bedside tables in Harry’s bedroom was indicative of nothing more than Harry...having two bedside tables. Draco licked his lips, trying to keep his expression neutral. It really wouldn't do to be grinning like an idiot in Harry’s bed. The whole situation was already weird enough. 

“I’m not a virgin,” Harry refuted quietly. 

“No, alright. You’re a monk then, perhaps?” Draco suggested, enjoying having Harry on the back foot once more. They were in bed together, and their elbows were almost touching, but everything would be fine as long as Draco was calling the shots. 

And Harry kept his glacially cold feet to himself. 

“I’m not a monk, either.” Harry adjusted his position against the bed, righting his legs, then sighed. “Unless you can be forced into monkdom.”

Draco snorted. “I think that’s how those sorts of things work, yes.”

“Had a lot of experience with religion then, have you?”

“Me? No, never touch the stuff.” Draco sniffed, rolling onto his side. “My family’s brief foray into following a fanatical madman was enough to put me off that sort of thing for life,” he murmured, injecting his tone with more confidence than he currently felt. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe what he was saying ― quite the opposite ― but he wasn’t really sure how wise it was to bring it up while in bed with the person Voldemort had devoted his later life to trying to murder. Draco was used to having an answer for everything, or at least being able to think of one pretty quickly, but there was something disarming about being in bed. He was finding it difficult to remain on guard. 

Behind him, Harry let his breath out heavily. Draco braced himself for some kind of response, but it never came. Instead, all he felt was a soft pressure against his back, almost like knuckles brushing over his shoulder blades, before it was gone again. The lamplight clicked out once more. 

“Night, Draco,” Harry said softly, and Draco pulled the covers up a little higher over himself. 

“Goodnight,” he replied, shutting his eyes.

***

Draco woke up to moaning.

And then to an elbow hitting him in the face. 

“Wh’t th’ ―” he murmured groggily, as he struggled to sit up. He took a moment to orient himself himself, summoning his wand and muttering _Lumos_ ― and then swearing again in alarm when Harry’s foot connected painfully with his knee. 

“Salazar, what are you _doing_?” Draco pointed his wand at Harry then stopped, sighing in understanding when he realised that Harry was still asleep, and apparently in the midst of a rather involved dream. He sighed again in relief when he realised that this also meant his worst case scenario wasn’t coming to fruition, and Harry wasn’t in fact trying to kill him in his sleep. 

Well thank Merlin for that at least, he thought, although that did still leave him with the problem of Harry’s surprisingly energetic and agitated manner of sleeping. 

“Um,” Draco murmured, sitting up on his knees. “Potter?” he tried, prodding him on the shoulder with two fingers. Harry didn’t react. 

“Look, wake up now, okay?” Draco tried again, but Harry only shifted restlessly, mumbling something unintelligible. He seemed to be settling slightly, Draco thought, as he leant closer. “Um, everything’s fine. In case you’re wondering. So you can wake up now, thank you,” he whispered, watching Harry carefully for any signs of alertness. 

Draco sat back suddenly, dropping his wand as Harry flung an arm out again. 

“Bloody hell!” Draco ran his hand over his mouth, watching Harry jerk again fitfully. “Or you can suit yourself and keep flapping around like an idiot,” he grumbled, entirely uncertain about what to do here. The last time Draco had shared a bed with someone, it had been Pansy on her birthday, and while she’d been exceptionally drunk and kept encroaching on his side of the bed, she’d not done anything similar to this. 

He impulsively gripped Harry’s wrist in one hand, straddling his lap and firmly planting his knees on either side of him in an effort to still him. It wasn’t easy, and Draco grabbed Harry’s other arm as well; he didn’t fancy coming out of this with a black eye. Draco looked down at Harry’s face and sucked in his breath as Potter continued to mumble incoherently underneath him, his legs still bucking. Draco thought back, quickly, to anything he’d ever been told about what do with people having nightmares. He was sure there were rules to this, things you ought and ought not to do. 

He couldn't actually remember a bloody thing, though, so he pinned both of Harry’s arms to the bed and improvised instead. 

“Oi!” Draco roared. “Stop… all this nonsense at once!” 

Amazingly, Harry did. 

“Malfoy?” he croaked, blinking unfocused green eyes up at him. 

“Yes. Hello,” Draco said, stupidly. He felt somewhat amazed that that had worked. 

“What are you…” Harry panted, frowning as he looked around. “What’s…” He swallowed, his expression still deeply disoriented. After a moment in which Harry didn't say anything more, Draco cleared his throat. 

“You were having a nightmare.” He adjusted himself in Harry lap, feeling suddenly aware of the position they were in, and that Harry might not remember what had been happening. “You were thrashing around and generally making a scene, so I… well.” He stopped himself from saying ‘ _sat on you and shouted in your face_ ’. He felt like that was rather obvious, at this point. 

Harry groaned, the tension leaving his body as he sagged against the bed. 

“Oh god, really?” Harry’s breathing was still a little shaky, but his voice was resigned. “That’s...embarrassing,” he murmured. 

“Does that happen often?” asked Draco, tilting his head to the left. 

Harry groaned, shaking his head and shrugging at the same time. He waited a moment, and then nodded too. Draco’s brow creased as he regarded him, something a little like sympathy ― but also a lot like confusion ― stirring inside him at Harry’s response. 

“Potter, I think you just gave me every possible answer to that question.”

Harry huffed a laugh, messy hair catching against the pillow as he turned to the side. He didn’t elaborate on his vague and conflicting answer. He also made no move to push Draco off, or try and free his wrists, so Draco sat as still as he could and hoped that perhaps Harry hadn’t quite noticed that he was being straddled. It was a long shot, but Harry still looked a little dazed, a little out of it. Draco thought if he hopped off of him now it would just draw attention to that fact that he’d instinctively hopped _on_ him in the first place. He was also enjoying the feeling of having Harry effectively beneath him and between his legs, if he was honest. His dick was certainly having a hard time hiding how much he enjoyed it, if the way it was starting to fill out, brushing against the soft wool of his borrowed sweatpants, was anything to go by. He licked his lips, curling his toes in an effort to keep still. 

“What were you dreaming about?” Draco asked after a long moment in which Potter said nothing, curiosity getting the better of him. He felt like maybe this was something he shouldn’t be bringing up, given the likelihood Harry’s nightmares were both deeply personal and deeply relevant to their mutual past, but he also thought the answer would at least help quell his reaction to Harry’s body before Harry could notice it properly. He knew that right now was possibly the worst moment ever to make a move on Harry, given the whole thrashy-nightmare followed by yelling-in-face business, but Draco’s body didn't care about any of that. All it cared about was the fact that Harry was an incredibly fit man, who wasn’t really wearing that much, and was in close proximity to Draco’s groin. 

Draco shifted his position a fraction, trying to look as concerned and not-turned-on as he could. He suspected he just looked a bit daft but with any luck Harry was as uselessly blind without his glasses as Draco’d always told everyone he was. 

Harry licked his lips, his face still turned away. The corners of his mouth turned down as he considered his answer. 

“I think it might’ve been sharks,” he murmured. 

Draco was so engrossed in the the way the stubble was darkening Harry’s jaw, before he frowned, his fingers tightening on Harry’s wrists in surprise as his words properly settled in. 

“Hang on, _sharks_?” he blurted. 

Harry puffed his cheeks out, refusing to meet Draco’s eyes. “Yeah, something like that,” he mumbled half-heartedly. Draco narrowed his eyes at him.

“Why would you have a nightmare about ―” 

“I dunno, why not!” Harry interrupted defensively. “Because they’re terrifying?” he suggested. Draco raised his eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. Of all the things he was expecting Harry to dream about, giant toothed fish were not on that list. He had no recollection of Voldemort sending a shark after Harry, but then again he wouldn't be surprised if it was on the list and Voldemort had been thwarted before he’d had time to trot out some kind of ‘Feed Potter Boy to Sharks, Take Over World’ plan. Regardless, it was an incredibly banal thing to be haunting Harry in his sleep. Draco surmised that this meant Harry was either lying, because he didn’t want to say what the nightmare was actually about or perhaps because he didn’t remember it properly, or he was telling the truth and was both stranger and more boring than Draco had thought. 

“I don’t have control over what my brain comes up with, it just happens sometimes,” Harry continued as Draco looked down at him, expression stuck between sceptical and unimpressed. “I dream about the weirdest shit,” he sighed. “Healers say it’s trauma, blah, stress, blah, whatever.” Harry waggled the fingers of his left hand dismissively, the bones in his wrist moving underneath Draco’s hand. “Hasn’t happened in a while, but it’s not a big deal. Sorry about, y’know. Waking you up.”

Harry shifted underneath Draco, and Draco moved with it. He felt a little bit taken aback by Harry’s candour and honesty. Draco hadn’t expected that, although it wasn’t the first time that evening that Harry had been surprisingly unguarded in his responses. Draco wasn’t sure if Harry wasn’t very good at lying, or if he just couldn't be bothered hiding the truth; he supposed it could be either, really. Draco supposed as well that after all the things Harry had been through, he’d earned the right to have a few nightmares every now and again, even if they were about big, toothy, non-magical fish. 

“It’s quite all right,” Draco said softly. 

From the dim light of his wand Draco could just make out Harry’s expression, but he didn’t look troubled, or embarrassed. He mostly looked tousled, his hair a messy sprawl against the pillow and his eyes bleary. It was strange seeing him without his glasses, Draco realised. The absence of the round frames made Harry’s face seem more open somehow, younger even, despite the stubble over his jaw making him seem a little rougher than before. He was worrying his lower lip with his teeth, and Draco flicked his tongue out to wet his own, feeling his cheeks grow warm. 

All in all, it really wasn’t helping Draco will his erection away. He minutely adjusted his position, taking stock of Harry’s slightly flushed cheeks and the warmth emanating from his body as he did so, and realised quickly that he might not be the only one with that problem. 

Which gave him an idea, and one which was significantly more preferable than awkwardly dancing around the topic of Harry’s weird dreams. 

“Potter.”

“Hmm?” Harry turned back to face him, and Draco reflexively tightened and loosened his grip on Harry’s wrists. He leaned forwards, watching Harry’s eyes flick from his lips to his eyes and then back again as he did so. Alright, so maybe not as blind as Draco had been hoping, but that didn’t matter now. He had something else to think about now. 

“Are you getting an erection?” he asked innocently. 

Harry stiffened beneath him, a slow, deep flush creeping over his collarbone and up his neck to his cheeks. 

“Oh.” Harry’s throat worked as he swallowed. “Uh.”

Draco rocked his hips forwards a little, feeling the unmistakable line of Harry’s hardening cock underneath him. 

“I think you might be,” he whispered. Harry licked his lips. 

“Well, you know. You’re,” Harry looked away from Draco and then back again, shoulders flexing, “sitting on my dick!” he whispered harshly, and Draco smirked. 

“I know,” he said, rocking his hips again. He leaned even closer, his nose almost touching Harry’s. “I was wondering when you’d notice that,” he murmured. 

Harry laughed once, soft and surprised. “Hard not to notice waking up to something like that.”

“And yet you seemed entirely unfazed by it.” Draco ran his lips over Harry’s cheek, felt his breath hitch slightly. “I expected much more of a scene.” 

“More than me kicking around in my sleep?”

“Mm.” Draco rolled his hips again, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “Some surprise from you at least, and then some righteous indignation, and then a barked “ _get off of me, Malfoy, you scoundrel_ ” ―”

“Is that how you think I talk?” Harry laughed at Draco’s impersonation. 

“― ending in some kind of duel,” Draco continued despite the interruption. “But instead, you just lay there.” Draco punctuated this with another roll of his hips, keeping his voice soft so as not to antagonize Harry. He wanted Harry to react, yes, but not to throw him out of the bed and send him packing. 

“S‘cause it was nice,” Harry admitted, rocking his hips back to meet Draco’s and Draco hummed in surprise. Harry’s cock pushed up against Draco’s arse, and Draco felt his own twitch in response. He pulled Harry's earlobe between his teeth, felt him shiver underneath him. 

“In comparison to the sharks, I presume?” he breathed, and Harry huffed another soft laugh, turning his head to give Draco better access to his neck. 

“Figured if I said I liked it, you’d be contrary and move,” Harry mumbled, inhaling sharply as Draco kissed down over the ridge of his jaw, ran his tongue over the line of Harry’s neck. Harry arched his head back further. “Which I hope you, _ah_ , won’t be now that I’ve said that.”

Draco hummed against Harry’s neck, running his teeth over the sensitive spot behind his jaw. He considered it for a moment, and while he felt it might be quite enjoyable to be exactly as contrary as Harry seemed to ― correctly ― think he was, he would have to get off of Harry in order to do that, and Draco wasn't sure he had the willpower to move. Harry felt good underneath him, his thighs tensing as he pushed up against Draco and his cock a perfect hard line against Draco's arse. Potter’s pyjama bottoms were thin, his grey singlet rucked up slightly in his sleep and his brow creased in concentration as he rolled his hips a little harder, and Draco thought that getting off of Harry's lap right now would probably be the stupidest thing he’d ever done. Even including the badges from fourth year. 

“You feel nice,” Harry blurted abruptly, licking his lips. “I mean that feels good. What you're doing.” 

Draco felt his own face flush, his pulse quicken. He ground his arse down against Harry's erection, ignoring how much his body reacted to Harry complimenting him. It’d been the same earlier, though, Draco getting harder, more worked up, every time Harry reacted appreciatively to what he was doing. Draco’d always had a weak spot for positive reinforcement.

“Tell me, Harry.” Draco released Harry’s wrists, running his hands down to his elbows and then placing them on either side of his head and using the leverage to grind down against Harry, _hard_. “Do you think you could come like this?” 

Harry gasped. 

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“Oh, is that a four syllable word?” Draco replied, grinning then biting his lip on a moan as Harry gripped his hips. Draco let his head drop down, hair falling over his eyes as he took a moment to enjoy how _good_ that felt. Harry’s hands were broad, strong, his grip firm as he gently rocked Draco back and forth over his cock. It was something so small, so insignificant, but Draco liked hands on him in that way, being held like that. He groaned when Harry tightened his fingers, moving his hands back slightly to Draco’s arse. 

“Could you?” he asked, watching Draco’s face intently. 

“Could I what?” Draco shook his hair out of his face again. “Come, you mean?” he asked, watching the way Harry’s eyes darkened at the word, the pace of his hips picking up a notch. 

“Yeah.” 

Draco licked his lips. “Maybe,” he replied honestly, shutting his eyes and trying not to moan as Harry moved his hands to cup his arse. 

“Maybe,” Harry repeated breathlessly. He squeezed his hands, inadvertently pulling Draco’s arse cheeks apart, and Draco hummed, pressing his lips together to keep the sound in when Harry did it again. At least Draco assumed it was inadvertent, as there was no way in hell Harry could know how much Draco liked that. He supposed it wasn't entirely unique to get off on having one’s arse squeezed, and he didn't think he was especially sensitive in that department, but there was something about the way that Harry fit his hands around the globes of his arse cheeks that made Draco tighten his fingers in the sheets underneath them. Earlier, he’d been under the impression that Harry’s “ _I can't seem to get laid_ ” speech was an indication that he wasn't really going to know his way around getting another person off very well. Draco’d quickly realised he’d been wrong there.

He realised it again when Harry suddenly ran his hands up to Draco’s ribs, watching his face carefully before knocking Draco off balance and flipping him over onto his back. 

“Wha―” Draco blinked in surprise, then exhaled shakily letting his legs fall open as Harry settled between them. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he groaned as Harry ground himself down, the hard line of his cock separated from Draco’s own by only the thin material of their pyjama bottoms.

“Maybe, like this?” Harry asked, voice low. 

“What?” Draco tilted his hips up, the change in position taking his arousal from moderate to extreme in such a short span of time that he was having trouble figuring out what Harry was on about. He ran his hands down Harry’s sides instead, hitched his own legs a little higher, and then groaned as Harry thrust down against him. Merlin, but that felt _good_. 

Harry rested his weight on one hand, pushing hair away from his flushed face with the other. “You’ll come,” he elaborated and Draco moaned in understanding. 

It was so juvenile, so teenaged to be rutting up against someone like this, almost completely clothed and yet hard as a rock. It felt bloody perfect, Draco thought as he gripped Potter’s arse, pulled him down against him harder. It was definitely enough to make him come. 

“Yes,” he hissed in lieu of being able to think of anything witty or smart to say. He felt distracted, too turned on to think properly as Harry took the hint and fucked down against him faster and harder, the muscles in his arms straining as he watched Draco’s face with increasingly unfocused eyes. Draco knew he should get their clothes off, get their pants down at least. But that would involve _stopping_ and this already felt so good, Harry’s solid weight bearing down on top of him, Draco’s thighs brushing against his sides as he rocked up to meet Harry’s movements.

“Keep doing that,” he said decisively, bunching up the material of Harry’s pyjama bottoms in his fist, and then impulsively letting go and sliding his hand underneath them. 

“Fuck.” Harry dropped to his elbows, forehead resting just above Draco’s as Draco grabbed at his arse. Draco could feel the muscle working underneath his hand, felt the shift and pull of it as Harry thrust down against him again and again. It was so much like fucking, the steady grind and roll of Harry’s hips between his legs, and Draco suddenly thought about how that would feel, to have Harry’s fingers, his cock, inside him. Oh, _Merlin_ , that would be ― Draco groaned, wrapping his free arm around Harry’s shoulder. He moved his hand into Harry’s hair as his breathing grew harsh and loud, the movements of his hips turning jerky and erratic as he felt his balls tighten, his toes curl. He could hear himself, little gasping moans as he dug his fingers into the hot skin of Harry’s arse, felt Harry groan and bury his face in his neck. 

“ _Ah_ , I'm ―” Harry exhaled shakily. “Are you ―” 

“Yes,” Draco gasped. “Keep moving like that.” 

“Oh, god.” 

“Just keep ―” Draco’s mouth fell open, his whole body tensing as he felt the overwhelming spike of orgasm hit him. He spread his legs wider, canting his hips up against Harry’s and pushing his shoulders down against the bed as he felt his dick pulse, again and again, against Harry. He clenched his fingers, biting his lips on the sounds he was making as he felt Harry stiffen and gasp against him, coming with a strangled grunt.

Draco sagged against the bed, letting his arms fall back against the pillow as Harry jerked against him one last time, before going lax himself. On top of him, Harry exhaled loudly, and Draco closed his eyes, still breathing hard. He savoured the lingering thrum of pleasure coursing through him, until it receded and he could no longer ignore the cooling mess between them. 

He blew his breath out 

“Don't fall asleep on me,” he managed after a while, poking Harry on the upper arm. He left his finger there, then moved his hand around the broad curve of Harry’s shoulder under the pretence of trying to wake him up. Harry grunted a laugh in reply, pushing up onto his elbows. His face was flushed, cheeks red, and his hair sticking up unevenly. His lips were red and bitten and Draco suddenly regretted not kissing him earlier. He looked away from Harry’s mouth, clearing his throat. It would be weird if he kissed him now. 

“Well,” Draco said as evenly as he could. “I don’t know about you, but I feel about sixteen years old right now.” He gestured pointedly between them at their soiled clothing. Harry laughed again, pushing up onto his knees and then Summoning his wand. He cast a quick Scourgify over them both. 

“Eighteen,” he said, belatedly, lying back down on his side. “That’s how old I feel, doing something like that,” he clarified when Draco frowned at him. 

“Late bloomer,” Draco mumbled, then winced when he realised the probable reason for Harry’s lack of sexual activity at Hogwarts. 

Harry sighed, looking away from Draco’s expression. 

“Well, this is awkward,” Draco said, and Harry laughed, a soft, relieved sound. 

“I have a feeling that’s going to happen a lot between us,” he said, scrubbing his hand over his face. Draco widened his eyes, then concentrated on pulling t-shirt back down over his stomach, righting the blanket. He didn’t like the way Harry had said ‘us’ there. Or rather, he didn't like how much he _liked_ the way that sounded. ‘Us’ sounded like it had potential, the promise of a second or third encounter, and Draco felt his stomach flip before he quashed that feeling. Draco didn’t think of himself as a negative person, but he did ascribe to the idea that his glass was half-empty rather than half-full ― mostly because for the better part of his life, half of the glass’s contents had been tipped out for him. Letting himself think that Harry would want to meet up a second time, that there would be more encounters between them, awkward or otherwise, was therefore a dangerous thing to do. 

It was also an incredibly tempting one, too. 

Draco pushed the thought away, getting back under the covers. He could deal with all of that rubbish in the morning. The proper morning, he thought, as he realised it must be around three am. 

Harry looked like he was realising something similar. 

“Merlin, I need to be up again in about three hours,” he said, yawning.

“Then go back to sleep.”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled, nodding. “I’ll try not to kick you again,” he said softly. 

“You’ll know about it if you do, believe me,” Draco replied, summoning his wand from wherever it had landed amidst the covers and murmuring _Nox_. They both fell silent and still, the dark of the room enveloping him as Draco’s wand extinguished. It was surprisingly non-awkward. 

“Harry,” Draco said seriously. 

“Mm?”

“Tell me honestly.” He felt Harry lean up on one elbow to try and look at him properly in the dark of the room. Draco kept his face as straight as he could. 

“Do you need me to check under the bed for sharks?” 

“Oh, very ―” Harry flipped back down on the bed, jostling Draco as he laughed. “Very funny, Draco.” 

“I thought so, yes.” Draco smothered his own grin. “It's a genuine offer, too ―” 

“Oh, piss off.” Harry laughed again, drowsily. 

“Sweet dreams, Harry,” Draco rolled onto his side again, shutting his eyes and sucking on the inside of his cheek to keep his smile in. He knew Harry couldn’t see him, but still. It was a matter of principle. 

He gave up on keeping it in when he felt what was definitely the brush of knuckles against his shoulder blade. 

“Yeah. You too, Draco.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are love! Come find me on [LJ ](http://shiftylinguini.livejournal.com/profile/)or [tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard)♥


	5. Experience is key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's never been great first thing in the morning, and mornings after? Well, he's even worse at those.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting two chapters at once, as there was a bit of a hiatus there when RL obligations ate all my free time :)
> 
> As always, big, throbbing, muscular thanks to my beta!

Harry was not a morning person. 

It wasn’t that he woke up grumpy, exactly, although there had been notable times that had happened. When Hermione and Ron had woken him up on a Sunday to try and convince him to join them on a hike, for example, or when he had reconnaissance training at six am in the middle of February and his kettle broke, meaning he had to leave the house without tea. Harry could definitely be a bit thick before he’d had something hot and sweet in the morning, especially before nine am. “ _The saviour of the wizarding world as we know it, and he’s powered by oversteeped tea and sugar_ ,” Ron had joked once, but Harry had sorted that out by blearily throwing a sugar cube at Ron’s head and threatening to conjure some ants. 

No, Harry’s problem was that he almost always woke up really, _really_ slowly, his brain taking its merry time to properly switch on and engage with the world in any remotely sensible fashion. 

This morning was no exception.

Harry blinked himself awake, then sighed as his eyes slide closed again despite his efforts. He groaned, and tried again. His stubble scratched against the pillow as he turned his face into it and tried to ignore whatever it was that had woken him up in the first place. Surely it couldn't be morning already, he’d only gone back to sleep minutes ago. Besides, he didn't want to get up just yet. He’d been having an amazing dream, which had mostly involved someone kissing his neck, their body warm against his own in the bed. Harry also recalled they had also been murmuring to him about the best spells to use when encountering a shark, and he also distinctly remembered that they’d bizarrely had the tale of a fish. That put it up there as one of the odder dreams Harry had had, but it definitely wasn't the strangest by a long shot. He was just talking about that with someone recently, he thought as he yawned against his pillow, tangling one arm underneath it and wondering if there was a potion he could take that would make him better at waking up. 

_“I don’t have control over what my brain comes up with, it just happens sometimes.”_

Harry’s head shot up. The memory of what had happened last night came back to him with all the grace and subtlety of a drunken Erumpent tripping over in a tambourine shop. 

“Oh god. Malfoy,” he said with some alarm, pushing up onto his elbows and hesitantly looking over to his left. To his ongoing surprise he saw only the rumpled duvet, and an otherwise empty bed. 

“Malfoy?” Harry said again, deeply confused. He didn't think he was capable of inventing an entire evening’s worth of events, although he’d certainly daydreamed up some pretty good ones during particularly dull art classes. Still though, nothing he’d ever dreamed had been vivid enough to leave a dent in his pillow, he realised slowly. He let his breath out in relief, reaching out to touch the shape in the pillow where Draco had been sleeping, and thankfully not existing solely in Harry’s imagination. He stopped, hand hovering just above the green cover, when he heard the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat behind him. 

“You really can sleep through anything, can’t you?” 

Harry turned to see Draco, shirtless and smirking slightly as he zipped his fly up. 

Harry blinked at him uselessly. “Huh?” he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. It snagged on a tangle, which he half-heartedly tried to unravel before giving up. He resigned himself to breaking a comb on it later. 

“Your alarm,” Draco said, walking back to the chest of drawers and pulling his shirt on, “has been going off for thirty minutes.” 

“Has it?” Harry leaned over to look at his small bedside clock. “It's not going off now,” he said, dumbly. 

Draco looked at him as though he thought he was being an idiot. 

“Don't be an idiot, I turned it off,” Draco said glibly. Harry watched the pale expanse of Draco’s stomach and then torso disappear as Draco deftly did his shirt buttons up. He flushed, remembering how Draco’s skin felt against his, even through the thin material of Harry’s borrowed t-shirt. He felt his cheeks grow even warmer as he ran through the previous night’s events, his eyes travelling up from Draco’s chest to his mouth. 

Harry hadn't really had any doubts that he wanted to have sex with men; he figured thinking about touching guys when he got himself off was a pretty good indication that he would be into, you know, getting off with them when they didn’t just exist in his imagination. Harry was pretty pragmatic that way. If Harry _had_ had any lingering doubts, however, they would have completely evaporated as soon as Draco touched him. 

Harry had never had someone go down on him the way Draco had, not by a long shot. Ginny had been pretty good at it, as had the few other women Harry had been with, but ― and Harry felt bad for comparing ― it had felt infinitely better with Draco. He wasn’t certain if that was because he was more attracted to Draco, or if Draco was just better at it. He thought it could very probably be both, which might have caused him some alarm if Draco hadn’t followed up blowing Harry’s mind in the hallway by managing to blow his mind even more in bed ― and this time, with even _less_ clothes undone than previously. It was almost embarrassing how much Harry’d liked that; he could picture the headline now, ‘ _Harry Potter, age 21, discovers joy of dry humping_ ’. Draco’d joked himself that he felt like he was sixteen again, presumably given the lack of finesse to what was essentially rubbing up against one another until they both came in their pyjamas, but truth be told, Harry hadn’t actually done that with a lot of people. 

Draco had been right, in a way, when he’d called Harry a late bloomer, although it wasn't really by choice. When sex had become something Harry had time to properly think about, he’d subsequently been in a bit of a rush to catch up with what he perceived everyone else had already done. He’d skipped past a lot of the things most teenagers began with, merrily flinging his virginity at Ginny and then breathing a deep sigh of relief that he was being a Normal Person. 

He’d never really considered that he’d missed out on anything by not taking things more slowly. Perhaps it was just the fact that it happened in the middle of the night, or maybe it was the overwhelming comfort of waking up from a weird dream to finding someone in bed with him, but Harry thought that was possibly one of the most intimate things he’d ever done, as far as sex was concerned. Which, to be frank, said something about his abysmal lack of previous experience with having people spend the night with him. But still. It was _nice_. Harry wanted them to do it again, and frequently, preferably with even less clothes on, or maybe even none at all. He’d been wracked with nerves the night before as he’d considered “what happens next” regarding Draco staying the night. It was Harry’s idea, of course, but that didn't mean he had any inclination about what he would actually be expected to _do_ once Draco agreed. Now, though. Harry bit his lower lip. Well now, if it happened again, they could maybe ― 

“Potter.” 

Harry snapped himself out of his embarrassing reverie, forcing himself to meet Draco’s eyes; he belatedly realised he’d been staring at Draco’s throat this whole time which, Merlin, could Harry just not be weird around Draco for five bloody seconds? He was distractingly fit, yes, but Harry really needed to work on being able to function like a standard adult when he was in the same room as him. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong.” Draco sat down on the bed, his back to Harry as he pulled socks and then his dark green leather brogues on. “But don’t you have a job you should be getting ready for?”

Harry blinked at the abrupt change of subject, and then sat up with alarm, mentally cursing his own inability to have _woken_ up with his bloody alarm half an hour previously. He was going to be late now. 

“Shitting buggering _shit_ ,” Harry mumbled as he threw off the covers, clambering out on the opposite side of the bed. Draco finished with his shoes and stood, watching with amusement as Harry struggled to both pull his singlet over his head and put his glasses on at the same time. 

“England’s finest, right there,” he said pointedly. Harry threw his singlet on the bed. 

“I need to shower,” he mumbled distractedly.

“I need to leave.” 

Harry stopped, towel in one hand and clean pair of pants in the other. 

“Oh.” He swallowed, throat clicking audibly. “Do you?” He internally cringed as soon as he said it. “I mean of course you do. You have…” Harry waved his hand as he fished around for the word. He stopped when he realised he was effectively waving his underpants at Draco. 

“Is ‘probation’ the word which you're having trouble with?” Draco suggested helpfully, raising one eyebrow and crossing his arms. “Because the answer is yes. I've got to go home, change, and then get in by nine. I'm cutting it fine as it is,” he added, turning around to pick up his cloak. 

“Oh, well you can shower here if you want ―” 

“Harry, you may observe I am already dressed. ” Draco ran one hand down the front of his shirt. It looked mostly neat, clean, but a little rumpled still. It made Harry feel flustered for some reason, seeing Draco in yesterday's slightly creased clothing, and Harry suddenly, fervently, didn't want Draco leave without having secured some kind of follow up meeting between them. 

Of course he had no idea how to sensibly bring that up. 

Realising that he wanted to make a repeat performance of this and broaching the subject with Draco were two deeply connected and yet seemingly opposed things, at least in Harry’s head they were. They’d got on well last night, and they’d also got on terribly, and Harry wasn’t good at asking people out at the best of times. And would Draco even want that? They were hardly friends, and traversing the moat of touchy subjects that was between them was difficult enough already. For all Harry knew, this was just a one-off bit of fun to Draco, and he’d tell Harry to get stuffed if he suggested a repeat performance. 

Harry shuffled from foot to foot, goosebumps prickling over his shirtless chest as he hurriedly considered what he might say. _“Can we go on a second date?”_ sounded entirely too formal, but _“do you want to stay over again some time soon?”_ sounded like he was asking for a sleepover. If he said “hopefully we see each other again soon” then he was leaving everything up to fate, and Harry was acutely aware that fate was just as likely to be kind to you as it was to roll up a tea towel and sharply smack you on the arse with it. And leave a _welt_. No, he didn't want to leave it up to something as annoyingly arbitrary as chance. He did need to think of something quickly though, as Draco was starting to pull his cloak on. 

“Um. Do you drink coffee?” Harry blurted after a moment. Draco shook his head, flicking Harry an amused glance as he pushed his own hair back from his forehead. 

“I told you, I need to leave. No time for coffee.” Draco adjusted his collar slightly. “For future reference though, no,” he added, casually. “I don't.” 

“Oh, right.” Harry felt a small surge of adrenalin inside him, his heartbeat kicking up a notch; future reference sounded very promising. “Me neither, actually.” 

Draco looked up from fiddling with his cufflinks, his expression still somewhat amused, but also expectant, it seemed to Harry. He looked as haughty as ever, something that Harry suspected was so ingrained in him that Draco didn't know how to switch it off, but he also seemed like he was stalling, like he was waiting for something. For someone who'd said they were in a hurry, he certainly was taking his time to leave. 

_It's now or never, you Gryffindor lump_ , Harry thought, straightening his shoulders. _Think of something clever. “Let’s not drink coffee together some time” maybe? No, that's awful. Bugger clever, just tell him you had fun and want to see him again. Say something about how you liked it!_

Harry inhaled deeply, looked Draco in the eye and said the first complimentary thing that came to mind.

“Thank you for last night. It was...It was a really nice experience.”

He exhaled, pleased with that. It was a bit of an understatement, true, but he figured saying anything would be better than overthinking it like he currently was. 

He was wrong. 

He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as he looked at Draco. Harry saw a myriad of emotions flicker across Draco’s face, and he recognised a few of them ― surprise, followed by confusion, followed by a slow, deep flush of what looked like embarrassment, and then indignation. _Oh shit_ , Harry thought, his stomach dropping. That was definitely not the kind of reaction he was expecting. 

“An experience,” Draco repeated, his voice cold. “Right.”

_Oh, shit, oh shit._

“Uh, yeah ―” Harry started, but Draco cut him off, anger having apparently been the next emotion in line to show up after Harry’s statement.

“Well, you're very welcome,” Draco said, his tone both polite and also dripping with sarcasm. “Always happy to be the provider of experiences.” He glared, then looked away, his face still uncomfortably flushed. “And now I think I’d very much like for this one to come to an end.” He turned on his heel. 

Harry widened his eyes. 

“Draco, wait, hang on ―” 

“― oh no, Potter, don't trouble yourself,” Draco called out over his shoulder. “I’ll see myself out. I wouldn't want to miss out on the _experience_ of using your front door again.” Harry blinked in confusion, hurrying around the bed and following the sound of Draco's shoes as they rapped sharply against the steps. “And I'm quite familiar with your hallway now, I'm sure I won't get lost.” 

“Hey, wait!” Harry called, taking the steps two at a time, his own temper starting to rise. He wasn’t sure what he’d said that was so awful it warranted storming out, and it was entirely too early in the morning for him to be dealing with any of this. “Just hang on, Malfoy, this is stupid.” 

“Ha!” 

“Just let me explain ―” 

“No, honestly Harry, as much as I’d just love to stay and experience more of your delightful company ―” 

Harry growled in frustration. “Would you stop saying it like that, I didn't mean to offend you!” 

Draco whipped around, staring at Harry. “I’m not offended,” he replied stiffly. Harry snorted incredulously at the lie.

“Clearly, you are.”

Draco’s throat worked as he swallowed. He didn’t look any less irate, two splotches of angry colour still high on his cheekbones, but he had stopped marching away like Harry was covered with a swarm of noxious bees, so Harry took that as a slight improvement. Unfortunately, he was so annoyed himself by this whole situation now that he was finding it difficult to explain what exactly he _had_ meant. He still didn’t understand why it had upset Draco anyway. 

Draco crossed his arms, raising one brow expectantly. Harry gave in to the urge to scowl. 

“If you could just stop being ridiculous for five seconds ― ” he started, but Draco's lip curled as he sneered. 

“Is that you trying to _apologise_?”

“No, god, I’m trying to understand why you’re suddenly in such a foul mood!”

“Because you’re an arse?”

“ _Why_?”

“Because a nice experience is a day at the fucking zoo, Potter!” Draco spat. “Or trying a new flavour of ice cream you were curious about! Neither of which are things I enjoy being compared to,” he finished, breathing hard and glowering. Harry blinked indignantly, looking away and back again as he tried to figure out what in the name of Merlin’s magical pants Draco was talking about. 

“I never compared you to anything!” he spluttered. 

“You might as well have,” Draco hissed. 

“How?” Harry shouted, confusion making him even angrier. “How does that make _any_ sense?”

“Figure it out!”

“Or just tell me?”

“Or just piss off?” Draco responded, his voice sweet and his eyes flinty. 

Harry growled again in frustration. “What is your problem, Malfoy! We had a nice night, and I said so, and now you're acting like I called you a day at the zoo, or something ―”

“No, you insufferably thick prat, that’s not it all!”

“Then what is it?” Harry yelled. 

“A nice experience, Potter,” Draco stepped closer, his voice dangerously low, “is something you do once and then tick off your fucking list before getting back to your daily business,” he spat, stepping even closer. Harry swallowed, resisting the urge to step back. He was suddenly acutely aware of the slight height advantage Draco had over him as his mind raced to catch up with what Draco was saying.

“Which is all well and good if you happen to consider people to be in that category,” Draco continued murderously, “except the usual etiquette would be not to say it to their fucking face!” 

Harry stared at Draco’s furious expression. His chest was rising and falling as he breathed shallowly. Harry felt his slow and sluggish morning brain finally start to piece together what exactly he’d said that had incensed Draco so. 

“I didn’t mean it like ―” he started, but Draco barked another humourless laugh.

“Piss off, Potter,” he said coldly, pulling his gloves out of his pocket. “And when you’re done pissing off,” he turned towards the door, “you can piss off some more. Goodbye, Dobby!” Draco called out as he walked briskly past Dobby’s portrait. “Give my regards to the infamous Pumpkin.”

The door shut behind him with a slam. 

Harry stared after him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. He dropped his hands back to his sides with a groan. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled, a horrible feeling settling in his stomach. Harry looked around the hall. “What the hell just happened?” he asked his hat stand. He sagged when he realised he was expecting it to reply, running a hand over his face and then up into his bed-messy hair in frustration. 

Behind him, Dobby squeaked in his painted frame, his hands still covering his face. 

Harry sighed, dejectedly heading back up the stairs

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are love! Come find me on [LJ ](http://shiftylinguini.livejournal.com/profile/)or [tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard)♥


	6. Silver Spoons

***

“Well, you’re in a fabulously revolting mood.”

Draco stabbed an olive on his plate, growling when it avoided his fork. The metal clacked against the white china as he tried to spear it again. Fucking olives. 

“Draco.” Pansy waited until he looked up at her before she spoke again. “Do you want to tell me why you’re trying to murder your lunch?” She waited another beat, took a sip of water. “Or should I try and piece together what has occurred to earn your ire based on your movements yesterday evening and the general state of you today?” 

Draco grunted at her, snarling at his fork skidded and the olive, slippery with balsamic vinegar, shot off the table and onto the floor. 

“Salazar’s saggy balls,” he muttered angrily, dropping his fork down next to his plate. It clattered against the table. He wasn’t hungry anyway, he decided, hungrily eyeing his annoying lunch. 

Across from him, Pansy raised an eyebrow. She raised the other as well when Draco rolled his eyes at her, pushing his salad nicoise away and picking up his glass of mineral water instead. 

“Can’t I be in a bad mood every now and again?” He sighed with exasperation, but he wasn’t sure if it was with her or with himself. 

He knew he had no right to be exasperated with her at all, given she’d come across town to meet him for lunch, and his foul mood had nothing to do with her. He was a bit sick of being _in_ a foul mood, really. He’d gone from furious and insulted at Harry’s house, to furious and raging as he quickly got ready for his day of probationary work in the Muggle Liaison office, to slightly less furious and feeling a bit flat and sad by the time he got there. Which, curiously, only pissed him off all over again. He didn’t want to be sad that Potter was an arse, he’d righteously declared to himself as he took his morning tea at ten. Draco didn’t care if he never saw the stupid speccy git again in his life! 

That anger had ebbed as well, though, by the time he’d headed out to meet Pansy at The Glittering Goose for their standard mid-week lunch date. He was beginning to wonder whether Harry had actually been as big an arse as Draco had accused him of being. As the crimson fog of anger receded and stopped obscuring his view, he thought that given Harry’s reaction, it might be likely that Harry actually hadn’t intended what he’d said to be an insult, and hadn’t realised it would land as one. Harry’d certainly looked shocked by Draco’s reaction, and before that Harry had been doing a pretty good impersonation of someone who’d had a brilliant night. He’d even been doing that worryingly endearing flustered and staring-at-Draco-like-a-starving-man-stares-at-treacle-tart thing he’d done the night before, and which Draco could just about admit he fucking loved ― and _that_ , he was self-aware enough to confess to himself, was why he’d blown up at Harry the way he had. 

What Harry’d said had pissed Draco off more than he could really explain, the dismissive connotations of being likened to an experience, and the finality that implied making him see red before he had a chance to actually process what Harry had meant. But Draco was finding it hard to ignore that he had entertained, albeit fleetingly, the thought that something might happen between them after this first night ― a second meeting, another evening spent together. He hadn’t let himself think any further than that, but even that brief flicker of optimism was enough to set him into high alert for any confirmation that he was being ridiculous. It was a knee jerk reaction, really, and one that he’d followed blindly in the past. Optimism was for Hufflepuffs, he always said; Draco was a _realist_. Harry didn’t like him, would never like him, and just because they spent one night in bed together, having a load of sex and generally enjoying each other’s company, didn’t mean that Harry had woken up wanting to take Draco to breakfast and go house-hunting together. Harry wasn’t even _out_. That was the reality Draco should have been telling himself from the beginning, and that was what he’d assumed Harry was confirming to him with his ill-advised statement, never mind the fact that Harry had said it with a big, hopeful smile on his aforementioned stupid, speccy and horribly attractive face. All of Harry was actually appallingly attractive, from his unruly hair to his broad palms and the light dusting of dark trailing down his belly from his navel, and then lower. Not to mention his frankly magnificent cock, or the way the firm muscle of his arse had felt underneath Draco’s hands, the way he’d sounded as he came down Draco’s throat. He was exactly Draco’s type ― hell, he was possibly the reason Draco _had_ a type, given how long Draco had found him annoyingly fit. 

Now, it was one pm and Draco was faced with the creeping knowledge that he’d probably overreacted, that he’d completely shat on any likelihood of Harry wanting a repeat performance of the night before, and that all in all he’d made a bit of a tit of himself. Draco liked being in control of things: the way situations unfolded, his own emotions, what happened in the bedroom. Hell, especially in the bedroom. Nothing got him off harder than being fucked into the mattress and knowing he was still calling all the shots. Getting upset over an off-hand comment, then storming out of Harry’s house after telling him to get fucked? Well, that did not make Draco feel like he was in control. That made him feel downright stupid, and childish to boot. 

Feeling like that, unsurprisingly, just put him in a foul mood all over again. He should possibly have cancelled on his lunch date with Pansy, but then he’d just have to deal with her pestering him about why and being even more irritating than she currently was. Which, he glanced across at her, wasn’t worth the headache. 

“Draco.” Pansy set her own cutlery down, staring at him hard. He folded one arm across his waist, sullenly refraining from answering. _Immaturity, thy name is Malfoy_ he thought, aware that he was acting up terribly. He still didn’t reply, though. 

Pansy rested her chin in her hand, her dark blue nails tapping against her cheek and her expression serene as she watched Draco raise his glass to his lips. 

“Is it because you fucked Potter last night?”

Draco choked on his water, coughing loudly in surprise and grabbing his napkin to dab at his mouth as Pansy regarded him evenly. 

“Don't die, darling.” She smiled sweetly, her chin still resting in her hands. “Or I’ll have to ask him what happened, and Merlin knows he and I aren’t in the habit of taking tea together, let alone gossiping over it.”

“That went up my nose!” Draco said hoarsely, glaring as he gestured at her with his glass of mineral water. At least, he tried to glare. It was hard given he was still recovering from the shock of Pansy somehow knowing what he’d been up to last night. And also at the feeling of fizzy water coming out of his nose. 

“How do you know ― ” He leaned forward, staring at her intensely. “Were you... _spying_ on me?” he hissed, eyes wide. 

It was Pansy’s turn to cough, this time to politely cover her amusement. 

“Oh, Draco, hardly. I’ve much better things to do.” She shook her head, her neat bob swinging slightly as she sat up straighter. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her again. Trust bloody Pansy to milk it. 

“And?” he prompted impatiently. 

“And Matilda told me.”

Draco’s mouth fell open. It was a full three seconds before he could get himself to speak. 

“What, _Matilda_?” He shut his eyes, shoulders drawing up in confusion. He shook his head. “But she can’t have, I didn’t tell her about it!” He hadn’t told anyone about it, least of all Matilda, even thought she’d spent the morning doing her best impression of Pansy and bugging him about why he was being so cranky. Just the idea of being called cranky had made Draco crankier, which Matilda found hilarious. 

“No, of course you didn’t. You were, Merlin how did Tilly put it in her owl, you were _‘stropping around all morning like a cantankerous old bull with an arse full of bees, and refusing to talk to anyone about why’_.” 

Draco’s mouth dropped open again, this time in indignation. He immediately ― and not for the first time ― regretted introducing Matilda and Pansy. He’d expected them to barely tolerate each other, but instead they got on like a bloody house on fire, and more often than not left Draco smouldering in the remains of said house while they buggered off for cocktails. 

Pansy sighed happily. “She has such a way with words, don’t you think? A true poet,” she added, smiling like a cat that had not only got the cream but managed to get everyone else's too.

“Poet my arse,” Draco grumbled. 

“Which is full of bees,” Pansy added, smirking outright now. Draco pursed his lips. 

“I refuse to dignify that with a response.” He sniffed, picking up his water then setting it down once more. He didn’t want to risk taking a sip and ending up with a nostril full of bubbles again. He eyed Pansy cautiously. “So how the hell did Matilda know what I was doing last night?” he asked. He made a mental note to get one of those fancy raspberry danishes Matilda adored on his way back, and then eat it himself while sprawled over her desk as punishment. 

Pansy looked veritably thrilled at the question. 

“Well, apparently you caused a bit of a fracas at your life-modelling stint last night, which, naturally, got back to Matilda given she works for the office that handles your probation.” Draco groaned, realising that of course Matilda would hear about that, as Pansy nodded at him like he was indeed very dense for not having thought of that earlier. “So, upon hearing that you’d made a scene and then left with a tall, handsome, scruffy-haired young man with glasses and a stonking big scar on his head, it wasn’t too hard to figure out who that was and what you were most likely leaving to do with him.” She clicked her tongue, resting her elbows on the table and showing off her impressive cleavage. Behind them, Draco heard a waiter drop a plate. Pansy’s grin widened. Draco narrowed his eyes. 

“I don’t shag every bloke I meet, if that’s what you’re implying. You should know me well enough by now that ―”

“I was implying you’d shag Potter in a heartbeat,” Pansy interrupted smoothly. 

Draco narrowed his eyes, his posture stiff, before he exhaled loudly. He was busted anyway. 

“Alright, I shagged him a bit,” he grumbled, crossing one leg elegantly over the other and sitting back in his chair. He crossed his arms as well. 

Pansy’s mouth stretched into a delighted smile, her eyes shining with excitement. 

“And?” she questioned breathlessly. Draco shrugged one shoulder. 

“And what? That’s it,” he stated, avoiding eye contact. Pansy tossed her hair again, almost growling in frustration. 

“Bollocks, that’s it!” she said loudly. She leaned forward again, pointing at him with her fork. “You went home with someone you have been frothing at the loins over since you had loins that were capable of frothing, and ― shut up, darling,” Pansy snapped as Draco tried to interject, “and now you're going to sit there and tell me ‘oh, we shagged a bit, and now, entirely unrelated, I am in a mood so foul it’s draining the joy out of the room like a Dementor riding naked on the back of a Thestral. Oh, but _that’s it_ ’. Bollocks,” she repeated decisively, sitting up straighter and adjusting her halter neck top. She cleared her throat as a waitress tentatively approached them, presumably sent over to ask her to keep the volume down. 

“Miss, if you could ―”

“The dessert menu, please,” Pansy asked, flashing the timid woman a warm smile. “Or, perhaps there’s something on there you could recommend?” she asked sweetly. The waitress blushed. 

“Oh, uh. Of course. We have a chocolate terrine, with a raspberry coulis ―” 

“I _love_ raspberries,” Pansy said enthusiastically. “I’ll take one of those, and he’ll have an assam tea, black with a slice of lemon,” she said and nodded over at Draco, leaning towards the waitress. “To go with his sour demeanour,” she said in a stage whisper. Draco glared as the waitress laughed then coughed to cover it. Pansy grinned again. “And I’ll eat mine very quietly,” she said faux-apologetically, winking at the girl. To Draco’s surprise, and Pansy’s delight, the waitress tucked a strand of her long auburn hair behind her ear, then winked back, Levitating their lunch plates towards the kitchen. 

Draco watched Pansy watch the woman leave. 

“You’re incorrigible, Pans. She’s barely out of Hogwarts,” he said, half smiling. Pansy slowly turned her gaze back to him. 

“She’s gorgeous. And she clearly didn’t recognise either of us, given she was even vaguely interested in me,” Pansy said bluntly. Draco swallowed, feeling a twinge of sympathy. He tried to keep it off of his face. He knew that Pansy had a hard time getting people to accept that she wasn’t evil personified given her actions during the war ― harder than any of them, really. He also knew that if she caught him looking at her with anything that even resembled pity, she’d hex him flaccid for the next decade, so he carefully arranged his face into an expression of feigned nonchalance and made a mental note to send her flowers later in the week. For no reason, of course. 

Pansy cleared her throat. “And speaking of gorgeous and out of Hogwarts,” she said pointedly, and Draco groaned. He knew it would be too good to think that she’d drop it after being distracted by a pretty face. 

“Must we, though?” Draco sighed. 

“Yes,” Pansy insisted, although her expression softened slightly. “I would have thought you’d be on cloud nine, gloating yourself insensate after getting your hand down Potter’s pants. Which, I might add, aren't known to have male hands down them, are they?” 

“Well, I’m sure his own count,” Draco mumbled. 

“Ha ha,” Pansy said dryly. “But I’m right, aren’t I? Last I heard he was still shacked up with Miss Ginger, so…” she trailed off expectantly. Draco cleared his throat. 

“Yes.” He looked at her evenly. “It means keep this to yourself.” He made another mental note to ask Matilda to do the same. He had no idea what kind of terms he and Harry were on now, but regardless, he didn’t want Harry to be outed as a result of Draco having gabby friends. 

“Oh, how dull.” Pansy pouted, then sighed. “Yes, fine, don’t look at me like that, I won’t tell anyone,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “Not that I have anything to tell them, do I, as you’re being so cagey.” Pansy stuck her bottom lip out, then batted her eyelashes at him, and Draco snorted, half in amusement and half in frustration. 

“What do you want me to say?” He licked his lips. “Yes, I went home with him, yes, obviously it was great, and yes, obviously it all went to hell the next morning because ―”

“The next _morning_?” Pansy frowned at him. “He stayed at your house?”

Draco swallowed, realising he was busted again. “Ah. No. I stayed at his.” 

Pansy’s mouth stretched into almost comical O of surprise, before she shut it, leaning back in her chair. She draped one arm over the back of it, letting her hand dangle, her expression thoughtful. 

“Well, this changes everything,” she said, as if she’d just discovered the solution to some complicated Arithmancy question. 

Draco shut his eyes. “No, don’t go all Mind Healer on me ―”

“Too late.” Pansy kicked his shin under the table with the pointed toe of her boot, making him open his eyes and glare at her smiling face. “So you stayed at his place, after sex, which I presume was…” Pansy clicked her tongue again, something she did when she was thinking. “His idea, I’d posit?”

“Yes,” Draco grumbled, jiggling his own foot impatiently. His shin was stinging. “Of course it wasn’t my fucking idea.”

“But you agreed?”

“Obviously.” 

“And then in the morning, you felt vulnerable and out of your depth?”

Draco grunted. 

“Draco?”

“Obviously!”

“Which is understandable, given your history with him, and your general history of being,” Pansy’s mouth turned down as she waved a hand, tracing the shape of Draco in the air, “of being you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco objected indignantly. 

“Well, you’re not the most.” Pansy stopped to smile as a different waiter set down her dessert, and then Draco’s tea. “You’re not the most open person, now are you?” 

Draco dropped his lemon slice into the tea with the small pair of silver tongs. He sniffed in lieu of reply, looking at Pansy over the rim of his cup as he took a sip. 

“My point exactly,” she said, sinking her spoon into her terrine. “You’re cagey, hard to read, standoffish at times and a control freak. You're also wonderfully intelligent, witty, and have devastating cheekbones,” she added placatingly at Draco’s affronted look. “But none of this is news to anyone at this table. You’re not prickly all the time. Sometimes you even let your guard down.” Pansy dabbed the tip of her little finger into a drop of red coulis on her plate, then brought it to her lips. “I want to know what he said that made your guard go so spectacularly up again.”

Draco stared into the depths of his tea. He weighed up the possible replies to that question and came to the rare conclusion that in this instance the best option was actually the truth. 

It was also a notably rare occasion that Pansy didn’t interrupt him at all while he told her. 

“Well,” she said when he was finished. “A nice experience.” She let the words fall off her tongue, the corners of her mouth pinching in delicate disdain. Draco felt his own doing the same, his stomach dropping uncomfortably. 

“That’s not ideal,” she continued.

“Quite.”

Pansy regarded him carefully. After it dragged on for another minute, Draco resisted the urge to squirm. 

“What?” he snapped after another moment of nothing but Draco’s tea going cold and Pansy eyeballing him like he was some kind of specimen she might make a potion out of. 

“But it wasn’t really insulting, was it?” she said thoughtfully, her carefully pencilled brows knitting together. “I mean, tactless, yes, and far from what one wants to hear after a night of talking about dreams, and then very maturely coming in your paramour’s borrowed pyjamas like a ― oh, stop it!” Pansy lifted her napkin to shield herself as Draco dipped his finger in his tea, and flicked the liquid at her again. “You’ll get us kicked out!” she hissed. 

“Nonsense. If you shrieking ‘ _bollocks_ ’ like the banshee you are didn’t do the trick, then I doubt a few specks of tea will.”

“I was saying,” Pansy continued in a low and dangerous tone. Her eyes, on the other hand, were glinting with humour, and Draco sucked the remaining tea off his digits, letting the detente settle over them. “That he probably wasn’t trying to offend, or dismiss you.”

“What was he doing then?” Draco asked, fishing for information. He’d come to the same conclusion before he’d arrived, but still. It was oddly nice hearing it from Pansy. She had such a wonderfully low opinion of people in general that confirmation from her that it was likely a misunderstanding was more than welcome. 

“Oh, Merlin knows. I don’t speak Potter.” Pansy picked up her spoon again. “I expect if you asked him he’d tell you, though. Or that he might have tried to do that earlier, before you began the strop to end all strops.”

“You make me sound like a toddler.”

“If the romper fits.” Pansy smirked as Draco's eyes narrowed. He pushed his hair off of his face, smoothing it back, and then letting his hands fall into his lap. He clasped them loosely. 

“Anything else you’d like to pry out of me?” Draco said sourly. It was mostly for show though; he was feeling considerably better after this little chat. Being friends with Pansy was odd like that. Draco could spend an entire lunch date glaring at her like she was a pile of rotting onions as she picked him apart, and then at the same time leave knowing she’d just considerably alleviated the weight of his problems. 

“Is he any good in bed?” Pansy shot back without missing a beat. Draco felt his cheeks flare with traitorous heat. He swallowed, looking away and then back again.

“Obviously,” he answered, his head held high even as his cheek continued to turn pink. He took a sip of his water. 

Pansy sighed, shaking her head at him fondly. 

“Oh, Draco,” she said kindly. At least, what passed as kindly for her. “You don’t think you might have overreacted a bit, do you?”

“I know I did!” Draco rubbed the fingers of his free hand over the bridge of his nose. “Don’t tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing, though!”

“No,” Pansy tittered another laugh, “No, I would have thrown a fit, too. Especially…” Pansy bit her lower lip, “especially if it was someone I fancied as much as you clearly fancy him.”

Draco looked away, refusing to give her the satisfaction of responding to that. He wished he could also refuse to give her the satisfaction of not blushing again, but that was out of his control. Pansy regarded him coolly, pink lips curving into a generous smile. 

“Draco ‘Scared of Rejection’ Malfoy,” she announced. “Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?”

“Hmm.” Draco looked down at his glass. “Pansy ‘Glass of Water Thrown in Her Face’ Parkinson.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “You know, I think I prefer that even more?”

Pansy laughed, a soft and tinkly sound that meant she was really amused. She dipped her spoon into her dessert, savouring another slow bite and allowing Draco to regain some composure before she spoke again. 

“Did he try and apologise?” she asked abruptly. 

“Mm,” Draco answered noncommittally, swirling his tea and watching the lemon rise up and then sink to the bottom, resting against the side of the cup at an angle. 

“Well, do me a favour darling, even if you won’t do it for yourself.” She waited until he looked up at her, grey eyes meeting dark. “Bloody accept the apology.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Pansy clicked her fingers to demonstrate her point. “I used to believe in holding resentments until they were old enough to vote, but now I’m much more inclined towards getting them all out in the open. So, clear the air, get all this nonsense behind you, and then get on with shagging him rotten again. It’ll do wonders for your constitution,” she finished, her eyes crinkling as she regarded him fondly. 

Draco scowled as he opened his mouth, a protest perched on the tip of his lips. He couldn't make himself voice it though, for some reason, the idea of clearing the air stirring up the faint wings of butterflies in his stomach. He had no idea if Harry would be amenable to that, but Draco found himself feeling uncharacteristically inclined towards finding out. He sucked on the inside of his cheek, keeping any hint of that off of his face. Pansy looked like she could see it all the same. 

Draco sniffed, then swirled his tea once more. 

“Eat your fucking dessert, Pansy,” he said softly, half smiling at her over the lip of his cup. 

Pansy smiled back at him, slipping the silver spoon back into her mouth.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Comments] and [kudos] are love! Come say hi on [LJ ](http://shiftylinguini.livejournal.com/profile/)or [tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard)♥


	7. Instant Scrolls

***

Harry stood at the front off Ron and Hermione’s small yet cosy house, his plastic shopping bags digging into his fingers and his mouth stumbling over the words as he tried to explain to Ron what had happened the previous night, then the following morning. Ron shifted his own heavy bags of shopping onto one hand, a bottle of wine clinking against a jar of mustard, as he dug his keys out of his jeans pocket.

He looked like he was enjoying this far more than Harry would have expected, his expression stuck somewhere between surprised, delighted and smug when Harry’d blurted out what was eating him. He didn’t even seem bothered about the Malfoy part, saying simply that pointy blond gits weren’t his type, but he’d always suspected they were Harry’s. Bloody Ron. Harry was pants at keeping secrets from him, but at least Ron could not look so self-satisfied about hearing this one. 

“So, let me get this right. You went on a date with Malfoy?” Ron asked again. 

“No, no not a date exactly ―” 

“Agnes said it was a date,” Ron replied evenly. Harry turned to him, appalled. 

“Agnes from art class? With the blue rinse and the cat hair?”

“Yup.”

“Since when do you chat with Agnes?” he asked incredulously. 

“I don’t.” Ron grinned, finally finding the key he wanted. “But Agnes told Clara told Melanie told Hermione,” Harry groaned as Ron talked, “who told me this morning over breakfast,” Ron finished, smiling at him. “Apparently you two caused quite a stir.”

“God.” Harry shut his eyes, resting his shoulder against the brick of their house. 

“Don’t worry mate, I doubt Agnes is gonna go to the press, and Mel won’t. She hates the tabloids, especially after they did that piece not long ago about Squibs. Her brother’s one, did you know that?” 

Harry felt his lip curl. He remembered that article ― a poorly researched piece designed solely to inflame ― and the chaos it stirred up. They’d had to retract most of what they’d claimed ― especially about the link between being on the Squib spectrum and participating in crime ― but it’d sold a lot of papers, generated a lot of publicity for them, so presumably made them a lot of money. Merlin, Harry hated the trash press. 

“Mostly she just kept banging on about how fit the model was, though. ‘ _The legs of a young Adonis, and a stomach you could bounce Galleons off of_ ’,” Ron said in a high-pitched and wobbly voice. It was a worryingly good impersonation of Agnes. “Reckon you’ve got competition there, mate.” Ron grinned, banging his shoulder against Harry’s and Harry huffed an unimpressed laugh. 

“She’s probably got a better chance with him now than I have,” he mumbled dejectedly. Ron looked at him, then puffed his cheeks out. He shook some of his floppy red hair away from his eyes. 

“Come on then, get inside,” He opened the door, pushing Harry in, “and then you can tell me and Hermione exactly what happened while she burns dinner.”

“Can’t wait,” Harry grumbled, stomping down the hallway as Ron chuckled behind him.

*

“Oh, Harry, no!”

Hermione rested one hand on her hip, her abandoned onion wobbling precariously on the chopping board as she stared at Harry. 

“You said _that_ , really?”

“Yeah.” Harry said. He leaned against the wall, sighing as he pushed his glasses up into his hair, rubbing one tired eye. 

Work had been long, even the simplest of tasks taking him double the time to get through given he felt so thoroughly rotten about what had happened that morning. It was ridiculous, and so was Draco. Harry hadn’t even said anything that bad, not by his reckoning, and that righteous indignation had sustained him for a while. But he kept recalling that brief flash of colour over Draco’s cheeks, the embarrassment on his face before his expression closed over and he lashed out at Harry. He kept running over Draco’s parting words, that Harry was essentially thanking him for the once-and-done experience, and he couldn't stop the growing realisation that he’d royally fucked up. Which was...unexpectedly miserable a feeling. He hadn’t wanted to fuck things up. He’d wanted to say something nice, and then segue into organising a second meeting. 

Talking to Draco was like navigating a field full of buried hexes, and Harry never knew when he was going to step on the wrong area, when it was all going to blow up in his face. But more than that, talking to him was also impossibly refreshing, exciting, the moments of humour and gentle teasing coming with surprising ease between them. Touching Draco was bloody brilliant. Harry had nearly walked into a potted fern in the MLE foyer when he remembered what Draco felt like underneath him, the way his thighs had tensed against Harry’s sides, or the drag of Draco’s teeth brushing over his neck. Harry liked it. He liked being around Draco, even when he’d been yelling at him. He wanted to apologise, again, but he didn’t know how. He’d already tried that, and just made it worse. He knew he wasn’t bad with words, that he could hold his own. All in all, Harry knew he was a pretty fucking capable human being, and then some. But Draco just…pissed him off and turned him on and made him _stupid_. 

Godric, Harry was fucked. Who gets a crush on someone they’ve never been friends with after one night? Who gets a crush on Draco sodding _Malfoy_?

Who walks into ferns in crowded foyers?

Harry pulled his glasses back down, wincing as they briefly snagged on his hair. He looked at Hermione balefully. 

“I didn’t…” Harry looked at Ron for support. Ron stared back at him happily from underneath his floppy chef hat, tying the laces on his purple and yellow floral apron. “Back me up Ron, it’s not that bad a thing to say, is it?”

“Well. Depends.” Ron made a contemplative face, gently tapping the two saucepan lids he was holding in his hands together. “Were you trying to offend him?”

“No!” Harry dumped his jacket onto a chair, then dropped himself into the chair next to it. He jolted upright when he realised he’d sat on a bag of parsnips, which Hermione took off him with a smile. 

“Oh, there those are! Thank you.” She set them down next to the carrots, and something yellow Harry didn't recognise. “Surely, you can see why that’s not...not an ideal thing to say to someone you just slept with, can’t you Harry?” she said diplomatically. 

“No, but I was...I was being sincere,” he said, fighting the urge to blush. He saw Hermione’s eyes gleam as she clocked that, and he resisted the urge to look away. Hermione’s mouth twitched into a small smile before she could contain it. She returned to her chopping board, focussing again on trying to get the onion to hold still so she could cut it. 

“There’s a spell for that, you know,” Ron supplied, watching her struggle. 

“It makes the onions taste funny, Ronald.” 

“Doesn’t.” 

“Does, actually,” Harry looked apologetically at Ron. “Sorry, mate.” He could still remember the odd, coppery tang the risotto had last time Ron had used his family onion chopping spell. Harry suspected that having grown up with it, Ron couldn't tell the difference, but Harry and Hermione weren’t fans. 

Ron sighed. “You’ll just have to invent a better one then, huh Herm?” His expression turned even fonder at Hermione’s withering look. 

“Oh yes, I’ll do that in my spare time.” 

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Ron said cheerfully. 

Harry pursed his lips, refusing to get involved. It wouldn't have surprised him either, though. 

Laughing softly despite herself, Hermione returned to dividing her attention equally between Harry’s predicament and the onion. 

“Okay, so you meant it as a...compliment?” she reasoned, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, then giving up on the chopping altogether and pushing it all towards Ron, who gratefully took over. 

“Thanks, Ron. So, what actually happened, Harry?” she inquired, sitting down opposite Harry and pulling the bottle of wine out of the grocery bag, inspecting the label. Harry hoped he picked a decent one, although he had to admit he’d gone for this particular bottle because it had a Snitch on the label. He sighed as Hermione poured three glasses, passing one to Harry and Levitating the other to Ron. She pulled the third towards herself, swirling the crimson contents happily and watching the way the liquid trailed in glossy legs down the glass. 

“It...well we, um, had a drink, and then we went back to my house.” Harry grimaced as he felt himself turning red. Bloody fucking hell. He was not used to talking to Hermione about sex. He forced himself to continue anyway. “Um, and then, well, we uh. You can fill in that blank,” he mumbled, while Hermione smiled at him and took a slow sip of her wine. 

“Um, and then he stayed the night,” Harry continued. Hermione paused, glass midway to her mouth as she took that in. “And then in the night, we, err. Well.”

“Filled in some more blanks?” Ron suggested from the counter and Harry groaned, mortified. He cleared his throat. 

“Um, yeah. And then in the morning, he was leaving, and I didn't know what to say. I'm not used to doing that.” 

Hermione frowned.

“Talking to people in the morning?” 

“Talking to people after sex?” Ron added, pausing mid-chop. “Surely you’ve done that, you’ve picked people up before. Can’t have just silently lead all your one night stands to the door and pointed at the street, Harry.” He chortled. 

“No, but that’s it! I’ve done that kind of thing, but not the other bit.” He waved one hand, frustrated. “Where you try and suggest night number two.” 

“Ahh,” Hermione and Ron both said in unified understanding. 

“The initiation of the second night stand,” Ron said sagely. 

“Yes! No. Well, sort of.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn't trying to get rid of him, is all! I was trying to lead into that whole second night whatever, so I said. Well, you know what I said.”

“Thank you for the experience,” Hermione repeated. 

“Yeah.”

Hermione regarded him sharply for a moment, the quiet of the room filled only by the sound of Ron humming out of tune as he started to peel the parsnips. 

“Well, it does sound a little dismissive, Harry,” Hermione said confidently. Harry leaned back, rocking on the legs of his chair and spreading his hands. 

“Yeah, I get that now!” He shook his head emphatically. “His reaction, you know, kind of got that across to me. I’m not that thick,” Harry griped. He dropped back onto all four chair legs, resting his chin in his palms and his elbows on the table. 

“Here, eat something.” Ron placed a small plate of crackers, fruit and fancy cheese in front of him. “You’re being a right snitty git,” he said with a wink. 

“Apparently snitty’s not a word, Ron.” Harry crunched on a fig, making a face when he remembered he wasn’t overly keen on them. The insides reminded him of...well, of insides. He tried not to think about it and continued to chew. 

“It’s not a word, no,” agreed Hermione, her voice long suffering. Ron waved a hand dismissively. 

“Well, if it’s not a word, how come I just said it then?” he countered, lifting his glass in front of him and smirking superiorly. Harry raised his fig in solidarity, and they chinked them, insofar as a glass can be chinked on fruit. 

“God, you two’re idiots,” Hermione said fondly, watching Ron wipe the fig smear off the side of his glass with his thumb. Sighing, Hermione lifted her legs and let them rest on the chair across from her. She cradled her own glass against her chest, two fingers on either side of the stem as her expression turned thoughtful. Harry helped himself to some cheese, taking a large swig of his wine. He wasn’t much of a wine drinker usually, but he also wasn't in the habit of eating figs or pining over Malfoy, so he figured he might as well give it a shot. 

Eventually, Hermione lowered her glass to the table, shaking her head. 

“You and… _Malfoy_ ,” she said wonderingly, almost to herself. Harry wrinkled his nose. He’d been dreading this part, although he knew it had been inevitable. He was surprised it hadn’t come up sooner. 

“Yeah. I know you,” Harry cleared his throat, “I know you hate him. Both of you.”

“Oh.” Hermione’s brow creased slightly, as she reflexively covered the faint, lettered scar on her arm with her free hand. Harry fiddled with his wine glass, covering the urge to place his own hand over hers as well. “No, I don’t hate him at all. I’ve no reason for that.” Hermione looked away and then back again, her keen eyes crinkling at the corners with humour. “I mean I don’t like him, really. I always thought he was a spoiled wanker with some seriously misguided ideas about how the world works, but I imagine that rather went tits up for him, didn’t it?” She smiled, and not maliciously. Harry returned it ruefully. 

“Yeah. Reckon it did,” he agreed. 

“Mmm.” Hermione watched him keenly. “Ron?”

“Nah.” Ron puffed his cheeks out, blowing a raspberry. “Can’t be arsed hating people these days,” he said, his voice mellow, and Harry knew he wasn’t lying. Ron had always been quick to anger, but even quicker to forgive and after losing his brother he seemed even more inclined to be done with holding grudges. “ _That shit’s poisonous, Harry_ ,” he’d said once, smoothing the leaves off of Fred’s grave. ‘ _Much better stuff to put my energy into. Like the shop now, with George._ ’

“Yeah. Fair enough.” Harry said, looking at Ron’s hand moving as he checked the temperature of the joint of beef roasting in the oven. Hermione regarded him too, then tilted her back to the left to look at Harry. 

“So, is Malfoy still a bit of a huffy prick, then?” she asked lightly, gesturing for Harry to pass her a dried apricot. Harry breathed a laugh, pushing the whole plate towards her.

“Yeah.”

“Is he still incredibly good looking, too?”

Harry’s head shot up, a slow, deep flush coursing over his cheeks and prickling down his neck. He scratched his ear, stalling, but he was spared having to respond by Ron’s surprised:

“Is he what?” He turned, hands on his hips. “You fancy him too now, do you?”

Hermione laughed robustly. “Oh come on, Ronald, I’m not blind. He was always a looker.”

“He’s a pointy ferret,” Ron retorted, returning to his cooking. He shot a warm glance over his shoulder to let her know he wasn’t actually bothered, and Hermione returned it, blowing him a kiss that was half-sincere, half-cheeky. Harry swallowed, looking away and taking another gulp of his wine. They were so easy with each other, even when they bickered, and Harry couldn't help but envy it sometimes. He wanted that with someone. 

He grimaced, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Merlin, what kind of soppy crap was that to be thinking? He looked up to find Hermione watching him. 

“You know, it doesn’t really matter if I like him,” she went on pointedly, lifting one foot and flexing her ankle. “Because you’ve far more reason to dislike him than I do, and I gather that’s not really the case anymore, is it?”

Harry shrugged as casually as he could, which wasn’t very. He coughed to clear his suddenly dry throat. “Yeah,” he mumbled noncommittally. “Doesn’t matter now though. He’s furious with me.”

“Oh, pfft.” Hermione dropped her legs back onto the floor, waving her hand as if Harry was being thick. “Of course he’s furious with you, he thinks you blew him off,” she said, smiling happily. Harry frowned. 

“Yeah, Herm, he does.” He squinted at her, trying to figure out why she looked so pleased about that. 

“Because he likes you, too!” she said, spreading her hands triumphantly. “If he didn’t, he would have laughed in your face, or not reacted at all. He got angry because he’s invested, I’d wager, which doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Hermione stated matter-of-factly. “He always was a bit obsessed with you.”

“I’ll say,” Ron added. “And you were kind of just as bad yourself, Harry.”

“You were, yes,” Hermione concurred. Harry scowled. 

“Oi, stop ganging up, I wasn’t obsessed with him ―”

“You followed him around for a year.”

“Yeah, ‘cause he was up to something!”

Hermione laughed at Harry’s disgruntled expression. “Of course he was,” she said placatingly, “and that’s the only reason you were on his trail.” Harry made a face at her. She only laughed harder. 

“Yeah, yeah, hilarious,” he grumbled, then sighed. “So what do I do?” he forced himself to ask as Ron set a bowl of soup down in front of him. Harry momentarily forgot he was grumpy as he inhaled the rich, buttery aroma of roasted pumpkins. He made an appreciative sound, looking up at Ron in surprise.

“I thought we were having a roast?”

“Yeah, but that’ll be a while, so we’re having soup for starters,” Ron said happily, sitting down with them and breaking up a large loaf of bread and passing it around. “Picked it up at the shops while you were being bamboozled by wine labels.” 

“Pumpkin’s my favourite,” Harry said to his bowl, and Ron feigned shock. 

“No, is it? I had no idea.” He grinned at Harry’s unimpressed look. “I only spent six years worth of meal times with you, mate,” Ron said through a mouthful of bread. “Everyone knows you like pumpkin.” His expression turned thoughtful as he chewed. “And I reckon it’ll just sort itself out.” 

Harry blinked at him, nonplussed, his spoon midway to his mouth. “Huh?”

“The Malfoy thing,” Ron elaborated, gesturing with a crust. “Maybe just give him a day or so to cool down, and then try and contact him. I reckon it’ll be fine.” Ron smiled confidently.

“Yeah?” Harry queried uncertainly. “That’s what you’d do?” Ron barked a laugh. 

“If I’d shagged Malfoy and then pissed him off, you mean? Not sure what I’d do if that happened to me, Harry.” Ron grinned. “Check myself into Mungo’s?” He clicked his tongue, laughing at Harry’s half-hearted glare. “No, well. I mean, I don’t really know him or what he’s thinking from a hole in the ground.” He nodded his head at Hermione. “But I reckon Herm’s right. He only got so pissy with you ‘cause he fancies you back. Fancying someone can make you act like a right pillock. That’s been my experience, anyway.” Ron Summoned the bottle of wine, topping up all of their glasses as Hermione hummed in agreement with his statements. “Don’t worry mate, we’ll switch to beer after this, like the classless swines we are,” Ron added with a wink at Harry. 

“I wouldn't mind a beer myself, actually,” Hermione interjected, and Ron looked at her adoringly. 

“So, just, give it a day and then try him?” Harry asked again, worrying his lower lip and trying not to get too optimistic at all this talk of people fancying certain other people. 

“Yeah, mate.” Ron smiled at him comfortingly. “And eat your soup. Things’re always better with a full stomach,” he said, patting Harry on the arm. Harry nodded, exhaling, and smiling back. He stirred his spoon in the thick, orange soup. 

“You know, I was right,” Hermione said suddenly. Harry and Ron both looked up at her quizzically. “About the art classes,” she continued, grinning outright now. “I said it was a good idea for you to get a hobby.” 

She looked at Harry smugly, and he laughed, stealing a piece of bread off of her plate and feeling his appetite properly kick in for the first time that day.

*

It was late when Harry got home.

He stumbled through the Floo, wobbling a little before righting himself. He stepped out into his living room, stomping his feet and dusting the last of the glimmering Floo powder off of his hands before wiping them on his shirt. He was full, and a little bit tipsy, and incredibly keen to go to sleep. 

“Home sweet home,” he mumbled, heading up the stairs leading to his bedroom. 

He got two steps inside before a small shape ran in behind him, skidding between his legs and tripping him over. 

“Wha ― _cat_!” he yelled in surprise, watching the small black feline jump onto his bed. She prowled along the pillows, hackles raised, and Harry walked over. He scratched her behind the ears. 

“What’re you so excited about, huh, Pumpkin?” He frowned. “Did I forget to feed you? You know, you don’t actually live here. You can’t expect me to feed you all the time,” he explained, smiling as she turned her head into his hand, purring and kneading at the pillow underneath him. He had no idea how she kept getting in here, but Luna’s theory about cats having their own brand of indefinable magic was seeming plausible every day given the sodding cat kept coming in somehow. Harry smoothed a hand down her soft back. He kind of liked that she kept breaking in, to be honest. 

He was about to give in and go and check the silver food bowl in the kitchen, which he just happened to have and definitely hadn’t bought especially for her, when there was a faint _tap_ at the window, and the cat jumped up, pulling the blankets off the bed as she tore out the room again. 

“What the hell ―” Harry righted his sheets, throwing them back on the bed and shaking his head in amazement as he heard Pumpkin inelegantly careen down the stairs and then bang into a wall. He listened for a moment, relieved when he heard her still clattering around in the kitchen. “Fucking maniac animal,” he said affectionately, throwing a pillow back onto the bed. 

He startled when he heard the tapping again, registering a shape fluttering at his window. 

“God.” Harry walked around his bed to let the owl in. “More animals,” he grumbled. “What do you want?” 

The grey and white owl looked at him sternly, swooping into the room and perching on the head of his bed. It stuck it’s leg out, a small black package attached, and turned its head away at the same time. It gave off the general air that this entire process was beneath it, and the sooner this was over with the better. 

“Oh, snooty, aren’t we?” Harry joked, leaning over to untie the the package from the owl’s extended leg. Without moving its head, the owl swivelled one eye over to glare at Harry. He chuckled, pulling the string away and avoiding the owl’s talons. The small package fell into his open hand, and his mouth twisted as he looked at it curiously. 

A sudden gust of air whooshed past his head as the owl took flight 

“Hey, don’t you have to wait for my ―” Harry watched the owl flap back out the window, “reply,” he finished dryly. “Apparently not.” 

He flopped onto the bed, package still in hand, but he sat up again quickly, realising he was still in his stiff Auror uniform. Whoever was sending him packages at this time of night could wait until he was more comfortable for a reply. Especially given Harry would now have to summon his own owl in order to do it, he thought, shutting the window with a wave of his wand. 

Standing up with a heave, Harry dropped the package on the bed and quickly changed, pulling on some black pyjama pants and a t-shirt he found neatly folded on his chest of drawers. It was only when he’d wrestled it down over his head that he realised it was the t-shirt Draco had slept in the night before, which he’d neatly left in one of the few uncluttered spots in Harry’s room. Harry stilled, the t-shirt around his neck and his shoulders bare as he worried his lip. He should definitely take this off and get a different t-shirt. It would be weird to sleep in something Draco wore the night before. 

_Fuck it_ , he thought as he continued pulling it on. He could deal with weird. He’d wash the shirt in the morning. 

He padded back to the bed, bare feet leaving dents in the thick carpet before he sat down, swinging his legs onto the bed and leaning against the headboard. 

“Right,” he sighed, picking up the oblong package and untying the string holding it closed. “What the fuck are you, then, huh?” he asked casually. He wondered, and not for the first time, if it was normal to talk to yourself this much. Before he could think any further on it, though, the package slipped open, three items tumbling out of the black wrapping and onto Harry's legs. 

He puffed his cheeks out as he frowned down at the package’s contents. In his lap sat a medium length black quill, a rolled up sheet of beige parchment, and a small neatly folded note. 

“Wait, what the hell actually _are_ you?” he questioned again, picking up the note and bringing his knees up. He rested his elbows on them, flipping the note open with two fingers and holding it out in front of him, but then frowned in surprise at what he saw. 

_Apology accepted_ , the note said in black cursive, followed by the initials, _D.M._

Harry blinked at the paper. He adjusted his glasses, reading over it again, his mouth twitching up into a surprised and confused smile. He licked his lips, running his fingers over one eyebrow as he instinctively turned the note over, saw it was blank, then looked back at the cursive. 

_Apology accepted_. 

Harry smiled outright, feeling giddy and stupid and incredibly, impossibly relieved. He swallowed, rolling his lips together and trying to squash the smile off of them. He knew no one could see him, but all the same. He felt he ought to at least try and not beam like a thirteen year old girl over two words and a weird package. Two presumptuous words, as well. Harry found he really wasn’t bothered by it though. The opposite, really. He looked back down at his lap, placing the note on his bedside table and picking up the other two items Draco had sent him. 

He looked at the rolled up parchment first, finding another small note attached. 

_Reply with this, if you want to. My owl’s a sullen prick._

Harry breathed a startled laugh. Draco wasn’t wrong there, he thought, peeling off the note and unwrapping the parchment. Still though, it was weird to send parchment for Harry to reply with, and a quill as well. Harry had his own stationary, well he knew he had some around here somewhere. Harry sniffed, brushing his hair back from his forehead and trying not to feel too pleased about the fact that this maybe indicated that Draco really, really wanted to make sure Harry would reply. It was equally possible Draco just had such a low opinion of Harry’s organisation that he suspected Harry didn’t own paper. 

As Harry unrolled the parchment, he quickly realised he was wrong on both counts. At first it looked like normal parchment paper, albeit slightly stiffer than usual, but as soon as Harry had completely unrolled it, a series of words blinked up at him, shimmering across the parchment. 

_D. Malfoy has invited you to use Instant Scroll_ , Harry read. _Please tap the triangle with your wand if you wish to accept. Please stick your tongue out at the parchment if you wish to refuse. Please reward yourself with a cup of tea or a sugar quill after making this taxing decision._

At the bottom of the page, a triangle appeared, shimmering up at Harry in the same black-yet-not-black colour. Next to it was a small stick figure drawing of a person sticking it’s tongue out and then turning around to waggle it’s rear at him.  
Harry stared in surprise at the whole tableau. 

He’d never used one of these Instant Scrolls before, but he’d heard of them ― and what they were mostly used for. He felt his cheeks suffuse with heat. Ginny had used them before, which had surprised him at first given their mutual past experience with written words that appeared on pages, seemingly of their own volition. She’d waved that aside, though, explaining that this was no different to sending an owl. It was just a lot faster, and ― in Ginny’s case ― a much more effective way to send Thierry dirty messages while Ginny was playing away games with the Harpies. There was no fun in it, she said, if she had to wait half a day for his equally filthy replies. 

Harry’s throat clicked as he swallowed. He pushed that thought away, bringing his knees up a little higher. He highly doubted that was the reason Draco had sent him this. Probably. Would he? Harry bit at one nail as he looked down at the triangle, and then away. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, before he felt his eyes sliding back towards the glimmering triangle. 

He Accio’d his wand. 

_You have accepted D. Malfoy’s invitation. Thank you for choosing Instant Scroll Real-Time Messaging!_ The words on the parchment shimmered up at him. _All the reliability of owl delivery, but none of the droppings! Use the inkless quill provided to begin messaging. Strike through words to erase them. Double tap the quill when you have finished writing to send your message to your recipient. Instant Spelling Correct can be enabled, but we must warn you, thirty percent of the time it will be wrong anyway. When the parchment is full, messages will be removed and archived for later viewing, should you desire. Happy messaging!_

The parchment abruptly wiped itself clean, the words disappearing with the same gentle glide with which they’d appeared. 

Harry straightened his shoulders, picking up the inkless quill. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, biting softly at the plump shape of it as he considered what to write. He wasn’t entirely sure how this worked. Did he treat it like a normal conversation? Or a formal letter? Would Draco be asleep? Harry glanced over at his clock. It was nearly ten. It was entirely possible Draco would have gone to bed. In that case, Harry ought to thank him, and then maybe leave it there until the morning when Draco could reply. 

Harry set the tip of the quill on the parchment, resting them both against his thigh as he began to write. 

_**Draco. Thank you for accepting my apology. Hope you had a nice day. Speak soon. H. Potter.**_

Harry wrinkled his nose as he read over the message. He was almost inclined to cross it out and start again, but he sighed and double tapped the quill instead. He was being ridiculous and overthinking things again, and he had learned that that only lead to putting his foot in his mouth. Given Draco had evidently let Harry remove his foot, Harry felt he owed it to himself to just talk to the bloke like he would anyone else. 

His message sitting solitary on the page, Harry pursed his lips, then nodded. No, he was happy with that. He stretched one leg out, leaving the other still bent so the parchment could rest against it, and yawned. Maybe he ought to go to sleep now and ― 

_D is writing you a message._

Harry startled as the words appeared in small grey letters under his own larger, black message. He hadn’t realised the Instant Scroll did that. He hadn’t expected Draco to still be awake, or to reply so quickly. Harry held his breath, as the small message continued to blink and fade up at him. 

He let the same breath out in disappointment when he saw the darker, one word reply. 

_Hello_. 

“Oh,” Harry said out loud. “Is that it?” He quickly shook his head, embarrassed with himself. What was he expecting? He sat forward, clearing his throat then shoving a pillow behind his back. He got more comfortable, simultaneously telling himself not to get so excited over nothing. When he looked down at the parchment again, though, another sentence was shimmering up at him. 

_You have appalling handwriting_. 

Harry barked a laugh. _That_ was closer to what Harry had been expecting. He ran his tongue over his teeth, settling against the pillow and adjusting his grip on the quill. 

_**You have an appalling owl.**_

He double tapped the quill, then bit at his thumbnail. He smiled around it as Draco’s considerably longer reply appeared. 

_I’d love to refute that, but considering the little beast bit me upon return from your house, I have to concede you are correct._

_**Is that worse behaviour than usual?** _

_Somewhat. I think he was put out by the travelling._

A few seconds ticked by before another message appeared. 

_And waiting around for you to get home and let him in._

Harry’s smile widened as he tilted his head, thumb still resting on his lip. If the owl had been waiting around for Harry to let him in, that meant Draco had sent the package earlier ― and given he was replying straight away, it also meant Draco had probably been waiting for Harry to respond. Harry pressed his lips closed, running his thumb absently over his bottom lip as his quill scratched against the parchment. 

_**I was at dinner. With Hermione and Ron**_. He waited a moment, and then gave in to his curiosity. _**Was it a long way for him to travel?**_ He wrote, wondering not for the first time where Draco actually lived. He kind of hoped it wasn’t at the Manor. 

There was a pause before Draco wrote back, and Harry wondered if maybe he’d asked too forward a question. He reminded himself, though, that after having his dick down someone’s throat, asking what area of town they lived in was probably not going to make them blanch. 

_Not really_. Harry sighed in relief when he saw Draco’s reply. _I’m just south of the river. Lambeth. But he’s a revoltingly spoiled, lazy little thing. He’s a purebred Northern white-faced owl and he expects to be waited on hand and foot. The feathered git thinks he’s royalty._

Harry smirked, quickly beginning to scribble a reply, when he saw another message from Draco appear.

 _If you say that reminds you of me, Harry, I swear I will never touch your dick again._

Harry huffed a laugh, crossing out what he had been writing. He looked away, scratching at his ear before he wrote something else instead. 

_**Was that still on the cards after this morning?**_ He waited a moment, then added, _**To be clear ― I would like it to be**_. 

He double tapped the quill and exhaled shakily, his heart beating hard in his chest. He hoped like hell that wasn’t the wrong thing to say. It was hard to be sure, but he thought Draco seemed to be flirting with him. Harry worried at his thumbnail again, a bad habit of his, and then stopped when he saw one word appear on the parchment. 

_Yes._

Harry almost dropped his quill in relief. He licked his lips, then smiled around the room, letting his head drop back against the pillow propped up behind him. He shut his eyes, breathing out and then scrubbing his hands over his face, under his glasses and then down over his mouth. If he’d thought that would wipe the giddy grin off his face he was wrong. 

His expression only got even more ridiculous when he saw what Draco wrote next. 

_What exactly did you want to be on the cards?_

Harry adjusted his position again, feeling his cheeks blooming into the deep blush that had been threatening for some time now. He picked the quill up off the bed, wiggling his toes as he tried to be sensible and figure out whether Draco was teasing him, flirting with him, or asking a genuine question. 

_**What do you mean?** _

A few seconds ticked by before Draco replied. 

_Potter. You know exactly what I mean._

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it again, his cheeks flaming. He knew what he thought Draco meant. His body certainly knew what he thought Draco meant as well, judging by the way his chest was flaring with heat, his heart beating fast and his cock beginning to thicken between his legs. He looked down at his lap, smoothing his free hand over his thigh and then quickly shutting the door with a wave of his hand. He didn’t want to end up with a lapful of Pumpkin when he already had a lap full of...well, burgeoning erection. Merlin knows that cat had the grace of a Bludger in a china shop, he thought, slipping his hand between his legs to adjust himself. He inhaled at the jolt of pleasure, then forced his hand away, focussing back down at the parchment. He needed to get the blood running back up North so he could think of a smart reply. 

He gripped the inkless quill. 

_**Sex**_. 

Harry stared at his message, then cringed. Well, that was direct at least, he thought, realising that he apparently hadn’t actually managed to get that much blood running back up to his brain. He shut one eye, and then the other too, wiggling his hips as he adjusted himself again, pulling his steadily filling cock towards the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. He ran his fingertips along the cloth covered length of it, then pulled them away with a half-groaned laugh. Even the idea of sex with Draco was making him hot and bothered. When he opened his eyes, he saw a reply. 

_Can you be more specific?_

Harry laughed incredulously. 

“No,” he said out loud, shaking his head and looking away. Well, he knew the basics of what sex with Draco would involve, the same way he knew what sex with anyone involved, but he’d be buggered if he knew how to specifically ask for that. He also thought that Draco was probably laughing his pert arse off about teasing Harry like this, while Harry was now nursing ― he looked down ― yep, nursing a full erection. Fucking hell, Harry thought, staring at the paper and trying to think of a reply. He noticed belatedly that Draco’s elegant cursive was starting to get slightly less neat and even. He’s probably getting tired, Harry thought, biting his lip and suddenly thinking of a way to buy himself some more time. 

_**Your handwriting is getting almost as bad as mine**_ , he wrote, stalling. He’d sent the message when Draco responded. 

_It’s hard to maintain good penmanship with an erection._

Harry’s mouth dropped open, his dick twitching visibly in his pants. Oh god, Draco was ― Harry pressed the heel of his palm against himself, sitting up straighter against the headboard, and then releasing himself. He scrawled a reply. 

_**Are you serious??** _

_Yes. Are you telling me you’re not hard? With your writing, it’s honestly difficult to tell. You could be having a stroke._

Harry laughed, heart thumping and his hand creeping between his legs once more. 

_**Yes**_ , he wrote, giving up all pretence and gripping himself properly with his free hand. _**I’m hard**_. 

He felt his face going even redder when he finished writing, but he double tapped the quill all the same. There was a pause, the parchment shimmering _D is writing you a message_ as Harry ran the heel of his hand up and down the length of his cock, felt its heat as it lay against his naked hip under his pants. He looked down the length of his torso at his lap, at the shape of his cock, and then back at the parchment. He groaned at what he saw. 

_Would you prefer it if I told you what I’d like to be on the cards?_

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, lifting his hips off the bed minutely. He bit his lip again, slipping the soft material of his t-shirt up over his belly and his hand under his waistband. His fingers skated over his hard flesh as his other hand clutched at the quill. 

_**Yes.** _

Another beat, another shimmer of words. 

_I want you to fuck me._

Harry’s fingers tightened involuntarily, his cock jumping against his palm as a low and breathy groan escaped him. He pressed his lips together, shutting his eyes and then blinking them wide again as he rolled his hips, unable to stop himself from pushing up into the loose curl of his own fist. God, he wanted that, he thought as he glanced back down at the words on the parchment, their directness both startling him and making his pulse race. He arched his neck, spreading his legs wider and beginning to move his hand up and down his cock. The movement knocked the parchment off balance, and he frowned, trying to straighten it with the hand that held the quill while not removing his other from between his legs. He tried to write a reply, the quill moving awkwardly against the parchment as he stroked himself, his writing becoming an almost illegible scrawl. He shook his head in amused frustration and crossed it out, stilling his fist and trying again. 

_**I can’t wank and write**_ , he scribbled inelegantly, breathing harshly through his nose. 

_Can you wank and read?_

_**Yes.** _

_Good. I’m clearly better at multitasking than you. I’ll write._

_**It’s not a competition, Draco.**_

_I thought you couldn't wank and write?_

_**I’m not wanking right now.**_

_You stopped wanking to argue with me? As hot as that is, Harry, I need you to focus._

_**Arguing with me is turning you on?** _

_Harry._

_**Yes?** _

_Put the fucking quill down and touch yourself._

Harry groaned again, almost a laugh but mostly a deep, guttural sound of arousal as he dropped the quill onto the bed. He moved his hand more surely over his aching cock, jolts of white hot arousal searing up through him as he ran his palm over the head, then back down to the base. He was so turned on, it was ridiculous; Draco’s written words, and the bizarre intimacy of it all even though they weren’t even in the same part of London, was making Harry’s thighs tense, his cock hard and leaking in his hand. 

It was fucking _hot_ , he thought, his fist speeding up as Draco began to write again. 

_I want you to fuck me_ , he repeated. _But first, I want you to go down on me. I want you to suck me off, want your lips around my cock until I’m hard and bucking. I know you’ve never done that before. I want my fingers in your hair as you swallow me down, want to watch your mouth work around me. And when I’m close, when I’m about to come, I want you to turn me around and eat me out._

“Oh god,” Harry gasped, a sudden wave of shocked arousal coursing up through him, followed by another when he realised exactly what Draco was referring to. He’d never done that to anyone. That was...could he do that to someone? He hadn’t really thought about it before, but he thought about it now, about doing it to Draco. _Fuck_. Harry gripped himself harder, ran his thumb over the moisture on the sensitive head. He suddenly lifted his arse off the bed and pushing his pyjama bottoms and pants down past his hips. His cock sprang free, slapping back against the straining muscle of his belly and he wrapped his fingers around it again, exhaling through his nose as he righted the parchment, reading the steady stream of filth Draco was writing. 

_Before you fuck me, I want your fingers. You have long fingers. I’ve looked at them. I want them inside me._

Another low, guttural groan slipped out of Harry, his hand a blur on his cock as the fingers of his other hand involuntarily tightened, creasing the parchment. He forced them to flatten out, trying to focus on the words even as his eyes wanted to slide shut, heat pooling in his spine as his orgasm built. 

_I want one finger, then two, then three. And then I want your cock._

Harry felt his balls tighten, his thighs tensing as he spread them as wide as he could with his pants around them. 

_I want it slowly at first, and then harder. I want to be able to feel it. I want you to go faster when I tell you to, to slow down when I say. I want to feel your weight on me, your hands around my wrists. I want you to fuck me so hard the neighbours think we’re building furniture in here._

_If you can, that is._

“Oh, _fuck_!” 

Harry jerked, his cock pulsing sudden and hard in his fist as the first incredible wave of his orgasm hit him. He gasped, the sound stuttering out of him as his hips canted up off the bed, the parchment falling from his knee and onto the blanket as he came. Back arching, his shoulders pressed against the pillow and he felt the first hot splash of come over his fingers, his wrist, onto the exposed strip of his belly. A stream of seemingly endless gasps fell from his lips, his cock jerking in his hand and his body strung taut like a bow as he rode his orgasm out. He flexed his fingers, releasing his over sensitive cock and then flattening his shaking hand against the still tense muscles of his belly. His heel caught on the blanket as he stretched his legs out, exhaling on a deep and sated hum of contentment.

He dropped his free hand over his face, knocking his glasses askew. He slid it down to his mouth where he exhaled heavily, still panting hard. His breath puffed against his fingers, warm and stifling as he tried to figure out whether it was the idea of fucking Draco through his mattress, or the direct challenge that maybe Harry wouldn’t be able to do it which had tipped him over the edge. He knew it was both, really, but deep down he knew it was the thrill of the provocation, the dare, that hit him the hardest. He could never resist rising to Draco’s bait. 

“Jesus christ,” he mumbled shakily through his fingers. There was possibly something wrong with him that being so competitive got him off, but if there was, then the same thing was clearly wrong with Draco. And you know what they say, Harry thought drowsily: two wrongs make for fucking great sex. He shut his eyes, drifting in the aftermath for another long, hazy moment, before pushing himself upright. He Summoned his wand and cleaned up the mess on his belly, on his hand, then lifted his pants back over the jut of his hips, tucking his cock away and letting the elastic fall back with a snap. 

He picked up the inkless quill and parchment, finding it mostly blank. He realised the Instant Scroll had filled up at some point, clearing away and archiving the previous messages to make room for more. He couldn't tell if he was disappointed or relieved that the frankly pornographic words had now gone. He chewed his lip as he stared at the last remaining line ― _if you can, that is_ ― brushing a strand of hair away from his left eye and setting the quill on the parchment. 

_**I think I’d be able to**_. 

He shook his head at it, but double tapped all the same, unable to think of anything better. So far, direct seemed to be doing the trick. Plus, he was fairly confident he could. Perhaps not enough to make the neighbours ask him to come around and help them put a bookshelf together when he was done, but close enough.

Almost immediately, Draco replied. 

_Welcome back. I take it you came._

Harry exhaled again, nodding as he pushed his damp hair off his forehead. He belatedly remembered Draco couldn't see him. 

_**Yeah.**_ A pause. _**Did you?**_

Another, longer pause. 

_No._

Harry frowned at the unexpected answer. 

_**No? Why not?** _

_The point was to make you come, Harry._

Harry flushed. He’d thought the point was to get both of them off, but he couldn't stop the flutter in his belly at the idea of Draco having written that all out for his benefit. 

_**Can I make you come? I’d like that**_ , he added after a moment. 

_Yes. You can._

_**How?** _

_Come here and fuck me._

Harry blinked, heat surging up through him once more. He reread the message, post-orgasm lethargy quickly giving way to a giddy excitement. That was an invitation to come over. Wasn’t it? That looked like a pretty clear invitation to come over, Harry thought, almost dizzy with the idea of it. He wondered briefly if he would be able to get hard again, having just come so hard he’d almost fallen asleep afterwards like the proverbial cliche come to life. He licked his lips, thinking back on the things Draco had written, the things he’d said he wanted ― and the challenge he’d levelled at Harry. He felt a searing jolt of arousal, excitement, down his chest at the prospect of rising to that. Merlin, but Draco knew how to push his buttons.Harry licked his lips, then rubbed at his overheated neck. Yeah, give him another ten minutes and he was going to be good to go again. 

_**What’s your address?**_

There was another pause, slightly longer than its predecessor. Harry wondered if Draco hadn’t been expecting him to reply like that, if his request was more of a general invitation and 

_17 Marble Court, Lambeth. Give me a minute to open the Floo._

Harry stood, grabbing his battered leather jacket out of his closet and slipping it on over his t-shirt. He paused, one arm half-in and wondered if he should actually change, get properly dressed. He briefly considered trying to be sensible and postponing this for a more appropriate hour. Then again, was there a more appropriate hour for something like this? _**Draco, thank you for the suggestion of a booty call. Does Tuesday 4th at 9pm work for you? If not, call Magda at the front desk to schedule another time**_. No, it was now or wait for another opportunity to come up, and waiting could sod right off as far as Harry and his libido were concerned. Besides, while he did have work tomorrow he started at two, working through until eleven. It was nearly midnight now, but Harry wasn't tired in the slightest anymore. He felt wired, alert, his body thrumming with the sated aftermath sex always had on him, but the prospect of _sex_ ― of fucking Draco ― was making him veritably buzz. 

_**Okay**_ , he scribbled, dropping the quill on top of the parchment, and galloping down the stairs towards the Floo. He distractedly grabbed a handful of powder, all but flinging it at the antique fireplace ― and on the photos on the mantle to boot, their occupants recoiling in annoyance ― and watching the green flames flare. 

It was only as Harry stepped into the fireplace, calling out Draco’s address, that he realised he’d left in such a hurry he hadn’t even put on shoes.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Comments] and [kudos] are love! Come say hi on [LJ ](http://shiftylinguini.livejournal.com/profile/)or [tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard)♥


	8. Arrivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to bixgirl1 for the wall-to-wall inspiration ;)

***

Draco didn’t pace.

At least he didn't usually pace. In times of high emotion, stress, anxiety, or excitement, he liked to find a point of calm, to step back from the scene and evaluate his next move. In times of extreme excitement, he’d been known to fidget a little, to perhaps jiggle his leg or tap his fingers. He generally tried to avoid anything so pedestrian as pacing, though.

Right now, he couldn't have sat still for all the gold in Gringotts. 

He walked three steps, bare feet leaving cold prints against his hardwood floor, then stopped, turned on his heel and walked back the way he came. He exhaled hard, one hand over his mouth and his other around his middle, fingers tight against the base of his own ribs to stop them from creeping down to his groin. He glanced down, his erection easily visible through the soft cotton of his pyjama bottoms. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in his mantel mirror, and wrinkled his nose. Merlin almighty, so much for remaining composed; his hair was tousled from lying against his sofa, his cheeks flushed from the things he’d written to Harry. His pale blue silk dressing gown was hanging open over his bare chest, his pyjama bottoms hanging low on his hips, and he wondered briefly if he should have put some _actual_ clothes on. Or maybe just something a tad more concealing when it came to his stonking big hard-on; at this rate, Harry was going to stumble through the Floo and lose an eye. 

Draco looked away, grimacing. His eyes caught on the still open Instant Scroll parchment, at Harry’s last message glinting up at him, dark and promising. It was the only remnant of the laundry list of filthy things Draco told him he wanted him to do to him, the rest having wiped away, but Draco could still remember them easily ― and above all, Harry rising to the explicit challenge that he’d be able to do them. 

Draco muffled a groan against his fingers, then dropped both arms, shaking them out. Merlin’s tits, thinking about that wasn’t helping. The thought of Harry _wanking_ over what Draco was saying was enough to make him need to shut his eyes, turning on his heel again.

He’d only sent the Scroll with the intention of apologising, in his own way, of initiating contact with Harry without needing to lose any face and admit that he had, in fact, behaved pretty badly. He’d been thrilled when Harry’d accepted, even more thrilled with the slow flirtation of their interaction. He’ll never admit it to her, but Pansy’s advice had stuck in his head, as he enjoyed himself doing the excruciatingly boring filing work at the Muggle Relations Office and made a mental note to join Secretaries Anonymous. When he broached the subject with Matilda at their 4pm tea break, she’d suggested writing a letter to Harry saying _“I’m sorry I acted like a tit, it was only because I really, really like you. Please take me back and let me hop on your monster cock?”_ This made Draco realise two things: Matilda was a terrible person who was not to be made privy to details of Draco’s sex life ever again, and that writing to Harry might actually be a good idea. 

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t expected things to possibly get a little bit sexual from there, but he hadn’t been banking on how much he would want it to escalate. Draco’d always had a weakness for talking dirty, and apparently writing dirty too. He was vaguely shocked by some of the things that he’d said, and was completely shocked by how much saying them had turned him on, by how badly he now wanted them to happen. He’d been excited beyond belief at Harry reading it and getting off, which he had to assume was what had happened. There was the risk that Harry had actually nipped off for a cup of tea while Draco wrote his obscene monologue, but considering he’d agreed to come over Draco found that unlikely. No, it was far more likely Harry was exactly as kinky a sod as Draco was. 

Draco rested his hands against the back of his sofa, tapping his fingers and then leaning forward. He exhaled, shaking his hair slightly away from his face and shutting his eyes. Merlin, he was so fucking _hard_. How long did it take for someone to come through a sodding Floo? Was Potter detouring through France? Draco quickly lifted his head, making sure he had actually opened his chimney to let him through, then looked away. No, it wasn’t on his end. Harry sodding Potter was just taking his merry time getting over here, and putting his money where his mouth was. Well, where Draco’s quill was, considering he had been the one doing all of the talking, but regardless. Harry needed to hurry the fuck up, so they could hurry up and fuck. 

Righting himself again, he inhaled sharply, walking around to the front of his burgundy sofa. He sat down on the arm, then gingerly adjusted his position when his arse hit the cushioned surface. He grimaced, trying to find the most comfortable position given the deeply personal cleaning charm he’d used on himself moments prior, and feeling his face flush slightly. He never liked those charms, the almost pepperminty tingle deeply unsettling considering where it was, but it was only good manners, really, to have used one. It was also much less embarrassing to do it before Harry got here than wait until he arrived, confirm that they were indeed going to fuck, and then excuse himself to the bathroom to charm his arsehole. No, best get that out of the way and try and maintain a little mystique about the whole thing. 

He’d stopped at using a preparation charm, though. He knew it would be presumptuous to use one ― much like the cleaning charm ― but he also knew he’d told Harry to come and fuck him into the floorboards, and while spontaneity was all well and good, so was being prepared considering he was about to have sex with someone who was hung like a fucking Horntail. If Harry had the stamina to match, then Draco was definitely going to feel it, but even so Draco had been reluctant to use a charm to relax himself. It was good in a pinch, efficient and thorough, and he’d used them before, but it took away that delicious burn, the stretch and pull when someone first pushed inside. Draco preferred a manual approach to that, preferred fingers and lube and being worked over until he couldn’t bear it and wanted _more_. He was hoping Harry would be on board with that. Mind you, he was so turned on right now, he’d probably come if Harry touched his knee in the right way. Which...well, Draco was hoping he could control himself a little better than that, at least to begin with, so they could make it to the main event. 

Draco hadn’t ever really had many doubts about his sexuality, about being gay, but he had initially held some reticence about letting people fuck him. He wanted to call the shots, to hold all the cards, in almost everything he did in life, and he wasn’t really sure how to reconcile that with the fact that he also wanted to be bent over a desk and fucked until his knees buckled.  
He liked topping, absolutely, preferred it at times, but other times he wanted it the other way around, and when he wanted that he wanted it _bad_. 

Quick and dirty had subsequently been his choice of sexual encounter when he’d first starting picking people up, back when he was new on the scene and pretending he was far more worldly that he was. He wanted to do everything, experience everything, but the idea that being fucked made him the weaker person in any sexual scenario had gotten stuck in his head, rankled him, in ways his eighteen-year-old brain didn’t understand. He’d been made to feel weak before, living in that house with _Him_ , and all those other bastards. He’d been made to feel powerless. Surely letting someone fuck him was another way of giving up power? And why then did he _want_ to do it? That little kernel of shame in him about what he liked had been persistent, and impossible to dislodge.

It had taken an evening at a rather seedy establishment, in which Draco had been privy to watching a man get fucked to within an inch of his life and love every second of it, moaning and clawing at the thigh of the guy behind him as he braced his other palm against the wall, for Draco to realise he was completely wrong. Of all the words that sprang to mind as he watched the man, ‘weak’ was not one of them. He was confident, turned on, his back arching as he asked for ‘ _more, harder, like that ― yes, fuck, there_!’ and Draco felt a few things slotting together in his mind, a few misplaced ideas falling away and onto the floor, where they belonged. He wanted that. He wanted it _like_ that. 

There was nothing wrong, Draco decided, with wanting that, with wanting someone on top of him, holding him down, with letting a little bit of the control slip out of his hands and into someone else’s. He could still control when, and who, and that? Well realising that was a fucking miracle. He’d taken someone home, tall and stocky, with dark hair and biceps Draco could have balanced a tea cup on, and finally had sex the way he’d wanted to but hadn’t had the confidence to ask for; slow preparation, fingers, and then everything hard and fast as Draco handed over the metaphorical reins and let himself just enjoy it. 

He crossed one leg over the other, trying to hide the state he was in. He sighed, almost a soft moan, as he tensed his thighs, at the contact this brought his cock. Merlin, he hoped Harry would arrive soon, before Draco spontaneously combusted from sexual frustration. He rolled his lips together, then jiggled his foot, trying not to think about anything too explicit, or about the things he’d told Harry he wanted him to do. Draco was banking on Harry not wanting to jump in and do at least two of them, so he didn’t want to get his hopes up. He flicked his hair out of his eyes, and was just wondering if maybe he hadn’t given the proper address, when the Floo suddenly roared to life. 

Draco didn't quite jump in surprise, but he did wobble somewhat precariously. 

Harry stepped out, and Draco felt his lip curl, something close to a snarl forming as he took in Harry’s messy hair, his slightly pinked cheeks, and the _fucking leather jacket_ slipped easily over his plain white t-shirt. He felt his cock twitch, and he rested his wrist on his knee, stretched his fingers out and resisted the temptation to grind his teeth. What the fuck business did Potter have rocking up looking like _that_?

“I see you dressed for the occasion,” Draco managed, his voice thankfully sounding only a little bit rough. He focussed on trying not to stare at the exposed jut of Harry’s collarbone, then gave up. He could see the shape of Harry’s nipples through his t-shirt, could see his ― fucking _hell_ ― bare feet, and this was ridiculous. Draco should have wanked before Harry arrived, should have taken the edge off the way Harry had clearly done himself. Draco was keyed up, buzzing with anticipation and arousal, and Harry just looked like he’d been for a mildly stimulating jog, and was now popping by for tea and crumpets. Salazar, and that was turning Draco on even more. He was like a nesting doll of conflicting, escalating sexual frustrations right now, which was only compounded when Harry laughed softly, looking down at his attire. He raised one hand, gesturing with two fingers at his t-shirt, then his jacket. 

“Should I have worn a carpenter's uniform?” he asked quietly, his expression still mild but a smile tiptoeing around his lips, his eyes bright with humour. Draco’s brow furrowed. 

“Why would you ― oh.” Draco shut his eyes, his mouth straightening out into a line of unimpressed understanding. “Funny,” he deadpanned, opening them and finding Harry still watching with that amused, heated gaze. 

“Would you like me to go back home and change?” he offered, tilting his head to the left and smiling outright as he gestured over his shoulder at the Floo. He looked like he’d never offered something less sincere in his life. Draco suddenly wanted to kiss him. He glared instead. 

“Merlin, you look like you want to hit me,” Harry said lightly, stepping closer. 

“I am not thinking about hitting you, Potter,” Draco exhaled, halfway between being furious, and so excited his pulse was fluttering like a trapped moth. 

“Oh?” Harry’s lips quirked into a smile, slow and playful. When he ran his tongue over them contemplatively, Draco almost groaned. Almost. “What were you thinking about, then?” Harry asked, sounding for all the world like he was inquiring about the weather, and Draco grit his teeth. 

_Fucker._

“Come here,” he said hoarsely. He beckoned with two fingers, looking up at Harry from under his fringe and hoping for all that he was worth that the effect Harry was having on him wasn’t as blatantly obvious as it seemed. Based on Harry’s increasingly self-satisfied smile, it seemed that it probably was. Merlin, Godric, Helga and _fuck_. 

“Stop grinning at me.”

Harry bit his lip, standing in front of him now, thighs on either side of Draco’s extended legs.“But you like it.”

“I _know_! Fuck, why are you so,” Draco ran a hand over his face, looked away and then back again, before he stood, sudden and in Harry’s space. This close, he could smell his cologne, the low lamplight of the room carving dips in the curves under his cheeks. His hair was a fucking mess, a riot of dark strands, and Draco wanted to shove his hand in the tangle of it, grab it and _pull_. 

“Why am I so what?” Harry said breathily, smiling lopsidedly, but Draco was pleased to note his chest was rising and falling a little faster, the first signs of a flush on his neck and collarbone. 

“You know what you are.”

“Frustrating?” Harry suggested, letting Draco bump his knees up against his own. Draco’s living room was adjacent to his bedroom, another open door leading into the kitchen. He was pretty sure he could get them in there without banging into anything too dire, he thought as he stared at Harry’s mouth, and tried to think of a quip to reply with.

“Yes,” is what he settled on, which was hardly the comeback of the century, but Draco had been nursing an erection for the better part of an hour, had been thinking about Harry fucking him for the better part of a day; he was going for coherent, at this stage, with clever as an optional extra should he have any brain cells to spare. He got his message across, at least, based on the slight uptick in Harry’s smile before he squashed it down again. 

“Why am I so...annoying?” Harry offered now, his voice low and still infuriatingly warm, teasing. Draco licked his own lips, tracing his hand around the collar of Harry’s jacket. Draco didn’t think he was into leather, or battered old jackets made of the stuff, but he liked this, like the supple feel of it under his hand. He let his other hand come to rest against Harry’s side, sliding over the white t-shirt and bunching it up slightly. Harry let his lips brush against Draco’s cheek before he spoke again. “And inappropriately dressed?”

“ _Yes_!” Draco pulled at the collar of Harry’s jacket, unsure if he wanted to pull it off or higher. He just wanted to pull _something_. He stepped closer, chest touching Harry’s and felt his mouth drop open as his cock pressed against the firm ridge of Harry’s stomach. They were almost the same height, Draco ever so slightly taller and he lamented momentarily that brief, wonderful time when he’d been taller than Harry, had been able to properly look down on him before the bastard had shot up over the summer holidays of their fifth year. Draco hummed, letting himself press more firmly against Harry and he exhaled shakily when he felt Harry’s hands, warm and broad, come to rest on his hips, his nose almost brushing Harry's. Maybe he wasn’t so annoyed they were almost the same height, after all, Draco thought, feeling the ripple of Harry’s stomach under his thumb as he brushed it over the line of his abdomen. 

“And...going to fuck you?” Harry breathed, his voice somewhere between playful, confident and tentative and his lips against Draco’s cheek, and Draco groaned. The sound was loud, slipping out of him like it had been pent up for hours, and Draco slipped his hands up over Harry’s neck, into his hair, and gave up on pretending he had any self-restraint left. 

“You fucking better be,” Draco rumbled against Harry’s mouth, pulling his lower lip between his own and sucking on it before he kissed him, soft and urgent. He tucked two fingers under the neck of Harry’s t-shirt, twisting them and pulling him closer. He parted his lips, deepened the kiss and sighed shakily as Harry moved his hands over the bare skin of his sides. Harry hummed into Draco’s mouth as he moved his palm to his lower back, resting it there and exerting just the faintest pressure, setting an almost imperceptible rhythm. Draco sucked on Harry’s tongue, one fist in his hair and the other stretching the neck of his shirt out of shape as he rocked against Harry, felt the shape of his legs against his. 

Draco knew he was a good kisser. He knew he should take this slowly, should try and work Harry up as much as he was and get them on a level footing. He also knew he didn’t even remotely have the patience for that, as he ground himself up against Harry in a low, hard slide, his cock twitching and dampening the front of his pyjama pants. He sucked in a breath, kissing Harry deep and dirty and rising up onto the balls of his feet, before he forced himself to step back. He shook his head when Harry tried to pull him back against him, keeping his lower half angled away as he tilted forwards to keep kissing Harry, wet and breathless. 

“You can,” Harry tried in between kisses, “I like that.” He gestured between them, kissing over Draco’s cheek, his jaw. “You can keep doing that ―”

“If I keep doing that.” Draco blinked the hair out of his eyes, maneuvering Harry as he began pulling them away from the sofa. “Then I will come.”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, kissing him again. “That would be hot. I mean, I already came,” Harry mumbled, managing to straddle that fine line between earnest, aroused, and slightly embarrassed. Draco swallowed his groan. “So you can,” Harry looked up, shaking some of his hair away from his glasses. “Let me make you ―”

Draco managed a laugh, pulling Harry with him towards the wall and shaking his head again. 

“No, I want you to fuck me,” he mumbled against Harry’s lips. “Make me come while you fuck me,” he emphasised, grinning himself now when he saw Harry’s breath hitch. He felt on steadier ground, now, with every little uptick in Harry’s breathing, with the flush deepening on his cheeks. Harry wasn’t hard, but he didn’t seem far off, and as tempting as it would be to come against Harry’s stomach, to press himself against the muscles of his abdomen and let himself roll into it, Draco knew what he wanted, and he was going to get it. He kissed Harry one last time, then pulled away entirely. He took two steps backwards, resting the fingertips of one hand against Harry’s chest. 

“So. Two rules,” he said firmly, removing all but his index and middle finger from Harry’s chest. Harry blinked at him in confusion, but nodded for him to continue all the same. 

“Don't come before me,” Draco folded one finger down, “and don't call me names.” He bent the second, then let his knuckles slide down the front of Harry’s t-shirt, over the ridge of his stomach. He reached the hem of Harry’s t-shirt ― and did Potter only own one kind of white t-shirt? ― before he pulled it up, trailing the fingers of his other hand over Harry’s belly. 

“Names?” Harry asked, and Draco shook his head distractedly, still staring down at the trail of hair, at the way the muscles of Harry’s stomach twitched away from his fingers. 

“Yes, names. I’m not a fan.” _Not yet, at least_ , he thought, but he couldn't be bothered expanding on the few times and the few words he didn't mind being called. Suffice it to say, the one time someone had called him _bitch_ Draco’s erection had wilted as effectively as if the bloke’d dumped a bucket of cold kippers down his pants, and after another particularly amorous man had called him _boy_ , Draco had started insisting on rule number two. Rule number one wasn’t actually that big a deal for Draco, but having one rule sounded odd so he’d expanded. “So no epithets. Agreed?”

Harry blinked, then nodded, his expression sincere behind the thick black frames. “Yeah, ‘course, Mal ― um, Draco.”

Draco looked up at him through the fall of his fringe. “My own name is obviously fine.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Harry laughed. “Wait, is saying that allowed ―” he started to joke, but Draco growled, pulling him up against his chest and walking them until his own back hit the wall. He exhaled in relief, mostly at the feeling of having Harry press up against him, but also at the fact that he’d correctly estimated where his wall was ― it might have been significantly less sexy to just keep shuffling blindly backwards until he hit his kitchen sink. At this rate though, he’d still be turned on if they keep walking until they ended up on his neighbour's compost heap. 

“Any of your own?” 

“Any?” Harry kissed down his jaw, bending his knees as he kissed over Draco’s neck, the dip of his throat, his collarbone. 

“Rules.” Draco let his head hit the wall behind him, Harry’s mouth trailing hot, wet kisses down his bare chest. 

“Oh. Right, yeah,” Harry replied distractedly. “Um, just, the usual?” 

Draco pushed his chest forward, trying not to make too much of an embarrassing sound as Harry ran his tongue around his nipple, one hand splayed against Draco’s ribs, and the other against the wall.

“Feel free to elaborate on what the usual is, Harry.” Draco suppressed a moan as Harry ran his fingers along the hem of his pyjama pants. “This isn’t a pub.”

Harry laughed softly, warm breath gusted gently over the wet skin of Draco’s chest and making it goosebump.“I don’t know, I guess, um.” Harry moved his hand in a long, hard stroke up Draco’s side, thumb resting against his other nipple. “No name calling sounds good.” Harry laved another wet stripe over the sensitive nub, his thumb moving in rhythmic circles over Draco’s other nipple. “And no pain stuff, or maybe just no...like _painful_ pain stuff.” Harry’s tongue swirled around the peaked flesh, and Draco unconsciously spread his legs wider, fighting the urge to grip himself through his pyjama bottoms. 

“Those,” Draco swallowed, “well, those’re vague, but they will suffice,” he continued, making a note to clarify later what exactly Harry classified as ‘ _painful pain_ ’, vs the other kind of pain. He lost the train of thought, though, as Harry swirled his tongue again. Draco hummed, hips pushing up against nothing, and Salazar but he really needed to get them into the bedroom, soon. He just needed to get himself together enough to properly do it. “Anything else?”

Harry nodded, hair tickling the base of Draco’s collarbone. 

“Yeah, um.” Harry stood, brushed his lips over Draco’s. “Just tell me if I'm doing this wrong, okay?” he said earnestly. Draco frowned.

“Doing what wro ― _oh_!” Draco inhaled sharply as Harry dropped to his knees. Whatever he was going to say about how there was fundamentally no way to kiss a nipple incorrectly, fell out of his head, landing with a metaphorical clunk next to what was left of his faculties. He stared, slightly open-mouthed as Harry pulled the waistband of Draco’s pyjamas out and away, then unceremoniously wrapped his lips around the head of his cock. 

“Oh, fu ―” Draco swallowed the expletive, clenching his jaw, and then his fist as Harry experimentally moved his mouth forwards, then back an inch or so. He did it again, still slow, still not quite sure what to do with his tongue as he let it rest under the head, and Draco watched with wide eyes. Harry traced circles with his thumbs on the dips of Draco’s hips, breathing shallowly as he kept bobbing his head in short but sure movements, and Draco gave up and _groaned_. 

It wasn't the best blow job he’d ever had, not by a long shot, but what Harry lacked in skill he seemed to make up for in a basic understanding of what felt good when it came to dicks. He pulled back, lips resting around the head as he sucked, before sliding his mouth down as far as he could, teeth carefully kept out of the picture. Draco wanted to say something encouraging, and devastatingly witty, or even just a little bit composed, but he moaned instead, a strangled gust of a sound. When Harry wrapped his hand around the base of Draco’s dick, letting his lips move down to meet it and pressing his thumb against the top of Draco’s balls, he jerked his hips forwards uncontrollably. Harry made a muffled, surprised sound, and Draco pressed his lips together, forced his pelvis to still even though that brief thrust forwards into Harry’s mouth had felt magnificent. He kept still, giving Harry a moment to recover and set the pace again, and Draco’s mouth dropped when he felt Harry’s lips against the tip once more, swirling his tongue around the head now. Looking up at Draco, one hand still around the base of Draco’s cock, the other flat and warm on the side of his hip, Harry started inching his pyjama bottoms down lower. He opened his mouth, bottom lip resting on Draco’s cock as he tongued the slit. 

“Fuck.” Draco shook his hair away from his face, simultaneously giving in to the urge to slide a hand into Harry’s. He swore again when Harry moaned faintly, the sound vibrating through the length of his cock. It was _that_ , really, that was making his knees feel like they wanted to buckle. Harry moaning. Harry _enjoying_ this. Harry Potter, mouth wrapped around Draco’s dick, the first and only dick he’s _ever_ ― 

Draco gasped, the hot jolt of arousal twining down his spine, hitting him hard and sudden. 

“Wait, wait, stop,” he babbled, tugging on Harry’s hair. Harry pulled off, wiping his reddened lips with the back of his hand and Draco groaned, memorising that image as another Accidentally Insanely Hot and Pornographic thing Harry had done. He was clocking quite a few of those.

Harry sat back on his heels, hands on Draco’s tense things. 

“Was that,” Harry cleared his slightly hoarse throat. “Was that good stop or bad stop?”

“Salazar.” Draco inhaled, steadying himself. “Good stop. That was ―” Draco puffed his cheeks out, torn between telling Harry it was brilliant and keeping that to himself. Far be it from Draco to ever knock back the opportunity to encourage someone to suck dick, but he was acutely aware that if he told Harry it was great he might have to add “ _because it was you, and it's fucking hot watching you doing that, and you could lick a Flobberworm right now and I’d still be dying to come_.” It would probably be weird if he said that though, Draco thought, feeling that familiar prickle of wariness spike up for the first time since Harry arrived. It would be weird, and not just because Flobberworms were revolting. Because he and Harry were only newly reacquainted, newly back on good terms, because they had about a kilometer of bad history between them and ― 

_And he’s here, isn't he?_

“Draco?” 

Draco looked down at Harry’s wide green eyes. His brow was slightly furrowed, one hand gripping between his own legs, curving around the shape of his hardening cock, and _Merlin_ that was hot. _He’s here, and he’s into you, and the world isn't going to end if you let him know how much you’re into him too_ , that infuriatingly insightful little voice chided him, and as much as Draco wanted to think the world revolved around his actions, he had to admit, the voice had a point. 

He breathed out slowly, let his lips curl into a heated smile. 

“That was fucking hot,” he stated, eyes trained on Harry’s hand, on the way he was palming at himself. Harry laughed, that soft, genuine sound again, this time muffled as he kissed Draco’s belly.

“Good.” Harry kissed his hip, his voice slightly relieved. “I mean, I liked it,” he said more confidently, pulling Draco’s pyjamas down below his arse, letting them rest on the tops of his thighs. “But I don’t really know what I’m doing there.” He kissed the top of Draco’s hip, moving away as Draco shrugged his dressing gown off, threw it to the side and let it flutter expensively to the ground.

“You’re a natural, then,” Draco said, shoulders pressing back against the wall and hips canting forward as Harry resumed sucking a mark onto the base of Draco’s belly. “The bedroom is that way,” he croaked, gesturing vaguely and watching Harry’s messy hair tickle his stomach. 

“Mm.” Harry ran both hands around to cup Draco’s arse. “So I assume,” he licked his lips, swallowing thickly, “that there is some kind of spell for this?” He gripped Draco’s arse cheeks, pulling them apart slightly to demonstrate what he was referring to, and Draco pressed his lips together in understanding. He felt his chest flush slightly, remembering that Harry had never had sex like this before. He didn’t really like to admit how much that turned him on; he wasn’t in the habit of collecting virginities, but Merlin he was going to be preening about this one until he was forty. 

“Yes,” Draco said as un-stiffly as he could. “And one which is taken care of.” He gripped Harry’s collar, intending to tug him up but Harry caught his fingers, pressed them back against Draco’s side. 

“And it’s like a…” Harry worried his lower lip. “Like a cleaning charm?” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. 

“Correct,” Draco replied, somewhat confused and refusing to feel embarrassed. He thought Harry looked, for some inexplicable and mildly offensive reason, _relieved_ by his answer, and Draco was just about to snap that his standards of preparatory hygiene were impeccable, _thank you Mr Potter_ , when Harry set his jaw, looking up at him almost mischievously. He tightened his hands on his arse, sitting back further on his heels as he turned Draco around. 

“What ―” Draco started, wobbling slightly on his feet and in the confines of his half down pyjama bottoms and steadying himself with both hands on the wall. 

“So, ironically I think I might actually know more about what I’m doing with this bit.” Harry kissed the base of Draco’s thigh, and Draco puffed an unexpected laugh, flicking his hair away from his eyes. 

“What, manhandling me?” he joked, his voice high and breathless as he tried not to think Harry was about to do what it really, _really_ seemed like he was about to. “I’d say you’ve done that before, yes.” Draco swallowed, heart rate picking up as he felt rather than heard Harry’s responding laugh. 

“No.” Draco sucked in a breath as he felt Harry place his hands on his arse cheeks, spreading them slightly. He kneaded at them, thumbs holding them apart and Draco’s shivered at the gust of cool air. “I mean with this.” Harry kissed the tail of Draco’s spine, the tickle of it making Draco shiver again, before Harry moved his lips down lower. 

“Oh, Merlin, you know you ―” Draco swallowed, pushing backwards slightly in direct contrast to what he was trying to say. “You don’t actually have to do everything I said in the, _uh_ , in the message ― oh, _fuck_.”

He gave up on talking, arching his spine and shutting his eyes as Harry exhaled gently, then opened his mouth against Draco’s skin. 

Draco had a pretty egalitarian attitude when it came to sex, and the various acts one could participate in when engaged in it. He’d be hard pressed to pick a favourite, but lace his tea with Veritaserum and ask him what he saw when gazing into the deepest depths of his own sexual mirror of Erised and it would be _this_. He exhaled on a low moan, toes curling against his hardwood floor, as he felt Harry’s breath gusting over his skin, felt Harry’s thumbs press into his arse cheeks and holding him open before he licked a broad stripe over his hole. 

“ _Uh_!”

“Mmm.” Harry shuffled closer on his knees, moving his lips in a gentle, kissing motion. Draco arched his back, trying to keep still and not push himself into Harry’s face looking for more contact, more pressure. Draco let himself fall forwards to his elbows, leaning his weight heavily against the wall. He groaned, loud and deep as Harry continued to swirl his tongue around his hole, hands gripping and releasing his arse cheeks in an almost rhythmic motion. 

“Yes,” Draco gasped out, answering nothing but wanting to offer as much encouragement here as he could. This was _good_ , and he wanted Harry to keep doing it. Draco gasped again when Harry made an appreciative sound, spreading his cheeks wider and pressing his tongue forwards, gently breaching the tight ring of muscle. 

A low, resounding groan stuttered out of Draco and he tensed his stomach muscles, trying to both hold still and relax himself at the same time. He was breathing harshly, the warmth bouncing back at him from the wall, and he bit at his lip, pulling it between his teeth. It was such a different kind of arousal that built in him, Harry’s mouth working steadily and with a confidence that Draco hadn’t been expecting. Draco could feel his cock, hard and heavy between his legs, as Harry pressed closer again, breathing harshly through his nose and pushing his tongue past the contracting muscles of Draco’s entrance, pulling it away, and then inside once more. Draco could feel the stubble on Harry cheeks and jaw faintly scratch at his skin, Harry’s chin bumping against his perineum as he moved with more determined motions. 

Draco rested his forehead against the wall, feeling the delicious, languid pulse of arousal that letting someone else take control always brought him. It was almost dizzying, overwhelming, as he felt the pad of Harry’s thumb run over his hole, replacing his tongue and then pushing inside to the first knuckle. 

“Fuck,” Draco laughed breathlessly, “were you taking notes or something?” he asked euphorically. 

Harry kissed at the top of Draco’s arse cheek, up to the base of his back. “No,” he said breathily. “Can’t wank and write, remember?”

Draco laughed again, ending on a hitching groan as Harry removed his thumb, rubbing the tip of his index finger over Draco’s spit-slick hole instead. 

“I just have a good memory.” Lips against his tailbone again, and Draco huffed another laugh. 

“Apparently.”

“And...this was next, yeah?” Harry rubbed his finger again.

“Fuck, _yes_!” Draco said loudly, pushing backwards and sighing as the tip of Harry’s finger slipped inside. “Yes, and, oh _fuck_ ,” Draco sighed a groan as Harry turned his finger, pulling it backwards and then slowly pushing it deeper inside. “Conjure lube,” he finally managed. 

“Mmm,” Harry murmured, forehead resting against Draco’s hip. “Sure.”

“The spell is ― a _uhh_.” Draco cut himself off, spreading his legs as wide as he could as he heard Harry mumble a word, felt the sudden cold slick of lube between his cleft. He shuddered as some of the cool oil slipped down further, over his balls, and then again when Harry pushed his finger inside to the second knuckle. 

“Yeah, I know the spell.”

“Show off,” Draco gasped, rolling his shoulders and letting his weight rest on one arm. He reached out blindly behind him, touching first Harry’s cheek, then the cool metal of his glasses, moving up into his hair. Draco gripped it tightly. “Fucking wandless show off.”

“S’an easy spell,” Harry mumbled against his skin, lips running over the rounded muscle of Draco's arse cheek as he pumped his finger in steady movements. Draco tightened his fingers, and Harry exhaled hot and unsteady against his arse cheek. Harry pressed his fingertip against Draco’s hole, bringing his middle finger to rest next to it, “is this next?”

“ _Ah_ , yes.” Draco let his arm slip forwards, his elbow against the wall and his forehead against his arm as Harry breached him again, this time with both fingers. They slid in easily, the stretch making Draco gasp open-mouthed against the skin of his own forearm as he rocked his hips back in slow, uncontrollable movements. “This, and then another.”

“Yeah?” Harry kissed at the junction of Draco’s thigh and arse, bit lightly at the skin and Draco nodded. 

“Mmm. Three.” He groaned again, fingers tangled in Harry’s hair as he rhythmically tightened and relaxed his fist, pulling at the strands gently, just enough to be felt, but not enough to hurt. “At _least_ three, given,” he canted his hips again. “Given certain endowments.”

“What ― oh.” Harry broke off, pressing his hot cheek against the side of Draco's hip and rising up onto his knees. “I’m not that…you know.” 

Draco huffed an unsteady laugh. 

“Your modesty is all well and good, Harry, but not when it’s up my arse. You are _big_.” He pushed backwards to emphasise his point, felt Harry moan. “Trust me, it is not a bad thing.”

“ _God_.” Harry kissed his hip, wet and open-mouthed. “So, what do I do ―”

“What you’re told,” Draco replied, licking his dry lips. “Three fingers, slowly.” He relaxed his shoulders, his neck, as Harry complied, withdrawing two digits and replacing them with the tips of three. Draco massaged over Harry’s scalp, running his forehead against his arm, back and forth. He clenched the fingers of both hands, his brow furrowing as Harry began to push inside. 

This time, there was a burn, the stretch and pull more pronounced as Harry moved forwards in the smallest of increments. Draco’s mouth opened on a stuttered groan, and Harry stopped, running his other hand tentatively, soothingly, over Draco’s thigh. 

“Too much?”

Draco tugged at Harry’s hair impatiently. “No, good.” He swallowed, pushing back and let himself adjust to the size of Harry’s fingers combined. He relaxed his fingers in Harry’s hair, breathing shallowly. “Move,” he mumbled, straightening his arm to rest against the wall when Harry started inching his fingers forwards again.

Draco let his breath out in a gust, widening his stance again, or at least trying to. Harry’s fingers were thick, long, index and ring curved under his middle finger as he pushed them inside Draco slowly, before easing them out again. In, out, the slow and sure pace making Draco’s cock twitch, his arms shaking with coiled tension. Salazar, this felt ― Draco inhaled through his nose, listening to the sound of Harry’s breathing, the wet noises of his fingers as they moved faster, then faster again. His fingers tightened in Harry’s hair, and he felt himself almost shout when Harry pulled his fingers away, his mouth returning to his hole. 

“Fu _uck_ , Harry, you,” Draco groaned, letting Harry pull his pyjama bottoms down, kicking them away. He widened his legs, glad to be rid of the material and pressing his hot cheek against the cold wall. “You don't have to ―”

“Do you like this?” Harry asked quickly. 

“ _So_ much.”

“Then I'm doing it,” Harry replied with determination, spreading Draco’s arse cheeks and pushing his tongue inside. 

Draco almost laughed, in loud and stupid glee. _Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, likes eating arse_. He bit his lip, his mouth curved into a giddy smile before he let himself give in to the feeling of Harry slipping his fingers back inside, of that stubble scratch brushing over his skin, of the steadfast _throb_ through his cock. He moaned, rubbing one hand over his stomach and resisting the need to touch himself. He wanted to come, _so_ badly, but he didn't need to yet, was happy riding the knife edge of arousal coursing through him.

“God.” Harry pulled back, wiping his mouth before kissing messily over his skin. “The _sounds_ you make,” Harry licked his lips, “are so fucking hot.”

“I know,” Draco managed, flexing his shoulders, and Harry laughed in surprise. He twisted his fingers, running his other hand over Draco’s thigh. Draco tugged his hair again, moved his hand down to Harry’s neck. “Stand up,” he gasped. “Stand up, now.” 

Harry did, the click of his knees just audible over Draco's whine as Harry removed his fingers. Draco sighed when he felt Harry press his chest against Draco’s back, before stepping away again quickly. 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled thickly. “I need to take this off.” Draco looked over his shoulder as Harry pulled his jacket off, pausing a moment and then taking his t-shirt off too. He straightened his glasses, eyes slightly unfocused behind them as he trailed his hand lightly down Draco’s spine. He kissed the blade of his shoulder, then the back of his neck, his still clothed cock pressing against the curve of Draco’s arse and Draco sighed in relief, the heated touch a welcome contrast to the surprising intimacy of Harry’s lips against his skin. 

“Do you know,” Draco said conversationally, tilting his head to give Harry better access to the side of his neck and trying to quash the flutter of warmth in his belly as Harry kissed up to his ear. “That I’ve never seen you naked?”

Harry groaned a breathy laugh. “Really?” 

“Mm,” Draco dropped his head back against Harry’s shoulder. “You keep leaving items of clothing on.” He gripped Harry’s sweatpants to emphasise the point, grinding his arse back against him. 

“Yeah.” Another laugh, the feeling of Harry’s chest hair against his back as he pulled Draco flush against him. “Do you want me to take these off?” 

“What do you think I want, Harry?” Draco turned his head, lips grazing over Harry’s jaw. From this angle, he could make out Harry’s faint smile, the tension in his jaw. He ran his hand along Harry’s arm as it wound around his waist, let his fingers meet Harry’s. They were wet, slick with lube, and Draco groaned, twining them with his own. 

“I think you want me to fuck you,” Harry said hoarsely, and Draco groaned, guttural and deep. 

“Excellently surmised.” He reached behind him with his free hand, ran the heel it over Harry’s cock. Harry hissed behind him, hips jerking forwards and Draco did it again, let his palm curve over the head. He felt the dampness there through the material, and he squeezed, his own cock twitching in sympathy. “And what do you want, Harry?” he asked, moving his hand up to the waist of Harry’s sweatpants. 

“God. I want that.” Harry kissed at Draco’s jaw, teeth scraping over it. 

“Mmm. Be _specific_ ,” Draco insisted breathlessly, running his hand over the jut of Harry’s hip bone. 

“What?” Harry asked breathily, helping Draco finally pull his sweatpants down. He groaned, low and loud and perfect against Draco’s ear, pressing himself hot and bare against Draco’s arse cheek. Harry rolled his hips, the head of his cock leaving a smear of moisture against Draco’s arse.

“Tell me what you want,” Draco demanded roughly, rolling back against Harry and shutting his eyes when Harry’s prick slipped between his cleft. 

“Oh, _Jesus_ , Draco.” 

“Tell me,” he murmured urgently, wondering absently if he should conjure more lube. He clenched his cheeks, felt Harry between them, hard and perfect. He didn't know where his wand was, and he wanted to feel it when Harry pushed inside, to feel the stretch and pull, the burn. Mostly, he wanted to Harry say ― 

“I want to fuck you,” Harry said, low and fierce and finally cottoning on to what Draco was trying to get out of him. Draco’s cock jerked, the head red and angry and glistening and he let out a strangled moan, Harry sliding between his cheeks, against his hole but never pushing inside. 

“Yes,” Draco nodded, his hair over one eye, tickling at the bridge of his nose. 

“I want to fuck you, now,” Harry repeated, stepped out of his sweatpants, kicking them away distractedly. “Here.” 

Draco keened, arching his back and tilting his head to kiss Harry, deep and filthy. He reached behind him, gripping Harry’s cock and rising up onto his toes, silently agreeing with Harry. To hell with the bed; he wanted this here, and now, and _fuck_ ― Draco ran his fist up and down Harry’s cock ― Harry was even bigger than he remembered. 

“More lube, now,” he gasped out. “The wandless, do the ― _uh_ , yes, that,” he groaned in approval at the sudden burst of _cool, slick, wet_ inside him. He clenched his cheeks, enjoying the feel of it. “And we need,” he looked around quickly, eyes settling on his living room coffee table. “Summon that,” he ordered breathlessly, pointing at it and groaning when Harry immediately stuck his hand out and complied, Summoning the table towards them in a soft rush of air. “Good.” Draco stuck his foot out to stop the table from hitting him in the shin, let his toes curl around the edge of it. 

“Anything else?” Harry rumbled, surprisingly sincerely, and Draco smiled, wolfish and pleased and so turned on he was almost swaying with it. He rested both feet back on the floor, legs a shoulder width apart. 

“Go slow,” he instructed, bracing one hand on the wall once more, the other guiding the head of Harry's cock against his entrance. “Go slow but, _oh_ ,” his breath whistled through his teeth as the thick head pushed through the tight ring of muscle, “slow but, _uh_ , firm and ―” he gasped again, leaning his weight on his hands as he tried to relax, to let Harry press forward inch by perfect, almost unbearably tight inch. 

Harry groaned behind him, mouthing along Draco’s shoulder. “God, you feel _so_ ―” Harry swallowed, slowly rocking into him and running his teeth over the line of Draco’s neck. “Is this okay?” he asked, and Draco nodded, momentarily unable to speak. He felt full, split open wide. The familiar ache and grind of something pushing inside him made him shut his eyes and focus on breathing, on letting his body adjust. It wasn’t painful, the discomfort instead minimal compared to the way the nerve endings Harry was hitting were lighting up inside him. He rocked back, hissing as Harry slid in deeper, and then deeper again. Draco let the air out of his mouth as Harry finally bottomed out inside him, his balls hot and heavy against Draco’s arse, his dick pulsing inside him. 

“Fuck,” Harry ground out, panting against Draco’s shoulder. He swore again, thighs trembling as they pressed against Draco’s, and Draco breathed through his nose, counting up to twenty in his head and letting the burn ease away. 

_Six. Seven. Eight._ Draco clenched his arse slightly, bared his teeth at the tight, hot stab of arousal it brought. _Nine. Ten. Eleven._

“Draco,” Harry murmured thickly, his arm firm against his waist, the other joining Draco’s against the wall. “Tell me, when to, _uh!_ ” 

_Twelve. Thirteen._ Another squeeze, both moaning loudly. _Fourteen._

“Tell me what you want.”

_Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen._

“Pull out. Half way,” Draco said through gritted teeth, gasping at the feel of it as Harry did, holding still. _Eighteen. Nine_ ― 

_Fuck it, close enough._

“Harry move, now,” Draco demanded breathlessly, pressing back against Harry and gasping out a stuttering groan as Harry slid back inside him. It was tight, the burn almost entirely gone but still present and Draco revelled in it, pulling at his lower lip with his teeth and feeling his cheeks pull into an ecstatic smile. He lifted his leg, planting his foot heel first onto the polished mahogany of his coffee table. He sighed shakily at the change of angle, his foot skidding slightly along the wood as Harry thrust forward in another slow, even glide. 

“That’s what that’s for,” Harry laughed, his breath a warm, uneven gust against Draco’s neck as he rolled his hips. 

“Mmm,” Draco placed his foot down fully on the table, flexing his toes. “Lev ― oh, fuck.” He gasped as Harry moved again, both hands at Draco’s hips now. 

“Lev?” Harry prompted, pulling Draco back against his hips, onto his cock. 

“Leverage, who cares,” Draco replied distractedly. “ _Fuck_ , do that again.” 

Harry rolled his hips once more, groaning as Draco convulsively tightened his walls around him. “Draco,” he kissed Draco back, pulling out and then back in, his breathing harsh and fast. “Can we…” Harry trailed off on a moan, still rolling his hips, pulling out until only the head rested inside before gliding back in. 

“Can we what?” Draco gasped out. His hair was falling in his eyes, his palm flat against the wall and his fingers splayed, until Harry pulled him flush against his chest. “Can we what?” Draco repeated urgently, wiggling on Harry’s cock and at the almost unbearably deep angle. He let his head fall back against Harry’s shoulder.

“Can you turn around?” Harry said against his cheek, fucking into him shallow and slow. His voice was breathy, low, and Draco blinked the hair out of his eyes, tried to concentrate on answering, on what Harry was talking about. 

“Turn?” he managed. 

“Yes,” Harry swallowed, bending his knees and moaning on every second thrust now. “I want to,” he rolled his hips, the head of his cock pulling at Draco’s rim. “I want to feel, see you,” Harry said urgently, “can you turn, can we face ―” 

“Fuck.” Draco moaned at the stab of arousal in him, at Harry wanting that. He had no idea what the practicalities of that position would be, but he was too turned on to really care either way, and he nodded, a jerky and stilted movement. He turned, both feet on the ground now as he pushed his damp hair out his face. He felt his back hit the wall immediately as Harry kissed him, deep and insistent, winding his hands feverishly up into Draco's hair, down over his shoulders, his back, anywhere he could reach. 

“Thank you,” Harry murmured earnestly. “Thank you.” 

Draco groaned, mouth open against Harry’s as their cocks slid together, the lubed slide of it almost tipping him over the edge. Harry kissed him inelegantly, more tongue than finesse, and Draco laced one arm around Harry’s shoulders, the other hand clawing at his back, his sides, down to his arse. When Harry moved his lips to his neck, Draco moaned, arching into it as Harry bit gently at the sensitive skin. 

“Thank me when you figure out how, mmm.” He frowned as Harry kissed over his throat, his chest pressing against Draco’s. “How the hell we’re gonna fuck like this,” Draco gasped out, smiling dizzily and furrowing his brow further as Harry kissed over his Adam’s apple, the dip of his throat. 

“We, _uh_ ,” Harry inhaled shakily, trying to steady his breathing, “we can, like this?”

Draco felt Harry’s hands bend his knee, lifting it until his foot rested on the coffee table once more. 

“Fuck.” Draco swallowed, pulling Harry up by the hair to kiss him again and rolling his cock against Harry’s hip. “That works,” he groaned, tipping his head back when Harry bent his knees, standing between Draco’s parted legs and grinding him into the wall, lifting him up almost onto his toes. “Ah, yeah this works,” he repeated, feeling Harry’s knuckles graze over his hole before Harry was bending his knees, guiding the fat head of his cock back inside. 

They both groaned as he pushed back in, Harry’s chest heaving as he flicked his hair out of his eyes. He hesitated a moment, then pulled his glasses off, dropping them onto the table near Draco’s foot. He looked back at Draco, blinking at him with those startling eyes and a small, contemplative crease forming between his brows. 

“Don’t step on them,” Harry said quietly, his thumb stroking over the sensitive back of Draco’s bent knee and his lips against Draco’s chin, then back to his mouth. Draco breathed a sound, rising up onto his toes and pushing himself down on Harry’s cock. It was infuriating, amazing, the angle driving him _insane_ and he tried to get some proper purchase, to lift himself up and grind himself down at the same time. He grunted as Harry bit at his collarbone, moving his hips in shallow pumps that were good, so good, but not _enough_. 

“Why would I step on, _oh_ , on your stupid glasses?” Draco ground out absently, his eyes clenched shut and his hands skidding over Harry’s shoulders. He’d step on anything right now if it would give him the angle, the _leverage_ , he needed, but he wasn’t banking on shattered glass really helping him there. What he needed was more _height_. 

“Because.” Harry looked up at him, his cheeks ruddy, his forehead dampened with sweat and his expression earnest and open and faintly hopeful. He gripped Draco behind both thighs, and Draco frowned, heart fluttering in his chest, something fierce and fond settling next to the white-hot arousal. 

“Because?” 

Harry licked his lips, bending his knees even further, and moaning as he used the change in height to push up into Draco. “Because, I think this will work even better.”

Draco laughed, breathless and almost dizzy. “Are you seriously going to ― ahh, _fuck, Harry_!” Draco gasped another laugh, this time in disbelief as Harry lifted him, wrapping Draco’s leg around his waist. He grasped Draco’s thigh, his other hand in the small of his back as he pinned him into the wall with his chest, rotating his hips and hissing expletives as Draco clenched his walls around him, swearing even louder. 

“ _Fuck_!” 

“Yeah,” Harry exhaled thickly against Draco’s collarbone, rolling his hips as Draco tightened his arm around Harry’s neck, clawing at Harry’s shoulder with the other. “I think this should work better,” Harry managed, his voice high and reedy and the muscles in his shoulders, in his neck and thighs, straining as he supported Draco’s weight. 

“Oh fucking hell.” Draco's head clunked back against the wall, toes curling into the wood of the table, the heel of his other foot digging into Harry’s arse as Harry pulled out and then thrust back in experimentally. Draco didn’t shout, but it was close, the sound bursting out of him loud and jarring as Harry pushed in deep, pulling back again quickly and thrusting in hard. 

“Ah, _yes_ ,” Draco gasped as Harry began to set the pace. Draco rested some more of his weight on his foot, Harry’s fingers digging into his hot and sweat-sticky skin, his nails leaving crescent shaped marks. His thighs met Draco’s arse with a loud, satisfying _slap_ and Draco groaned. “Yes, keep doing that!”

Harry murmured a reply which sounded like it could have been _good?_ or could have been _guuhh_ , for all Draco could make out. He felt his shoulders grinding against the cold wall, Harry’s breath a hot staccato gust against his throat, and his belly rubbing over Draco’s cock as he thrust up into him, keeping the staggering pace he’d set. Draco arched his neck back, gasping incoherently at the ceiling, and then again as Harry grunted, hiking him up higher and fucking into him harder still. He could count on one finger the number of times someone had fucked him like this against a wall, and it was happening right now. He tightened his arm around Harry’s neck, his other hand gripping his shoulder hard enough to bruise, feeling the muscles tighten and release as Harry held him. He ran the heel of his palm down over Harry’s bicep, felt the swell of it under his fingers and heard Harry groan, panting in strangled gasps against his neck. Draco could hear the ridiculous sounds he himself was making ― half encouragement, half strangled sobs ― his own stomach muscles taut with the effort of holding himself up, before he suddenly stilled, his mouth open in a silent gasp as Harry’s cock brushed over his prostate. 

“Oh, _fu_ ―” Draco kept as still as he could, Harry pistoning up into him, hitting his prostate on every second, uneven thrust and causing sudden, jarring pleasure to run through him. Draco’s cock twitched, the head glistening and red, and he felt the tension building, his balls tightening and his eyes squeezing tightly shut. He let out a low, shattering moan. 

“Ah, shit, I’m ―” Harry bit at his collarbone, knees against the wall and thrusts turning erratic as he pumped into Draco, shallow and fast. “So close.”

“ _Fuck!_ ” 

“Draco, you need to,” Harry broke off on a moan, panting harshly now with the exertion of keeping his pace, “you need to co ― _ahh_ ― to come before I ―”

“ _Uhh_!” Draco felt his head hit the wall, hard, the first pulse of his orgasm hitting him sudden, and deep, knocking the air out of him. His cock jerked between them, come landing hot and slick over Harry’s stomach. Draco keened, pushing up against Harry’s chest, back against the wall, and nearly knocking them off balance. Draco pulled Harry up into a bruising kiss, teeth clacking together as his thigh slid against Harry’s waist. He slipped one hand between them to grip his cock wringing the last final, searing pulse of his orgasm out, his arse clenching spasmodically around Harry’s prick. 

“Ah, _god_!” Harry jerked, moaning uncontrollably into Draco’s mouth while his hips stuttered up. His knees buckling slightly before he stilled, gasping and dropping his head to Draco's collarbone, and Draco hummed, sucking on his lower lip, his own cock twitching as he felt the first hot pulse of _wet_ inside him. Harry’s shoulders shook, his hips rolling up, fucking further into Draco as he chased his release, his mouth open and his breath hot on Draco’s neck.

“ _God_!” Harry held them still for a moment, heartbeat thumping against Draco’s chest, before he swayed, balance momentarily lost and his arms giving way as his orgasm peaked and ebbed away. Draco grimaced as Harry’s cock slipped out of him, his come following it in a warm streak down his inner thigh. Draco’s foot landed back on the ground with a heavy thud.

“Shit, Draco, sor ―” Harry swallowed, still breathing hard. There were slashes of red on his cheeks, his chest flushed and covered with a faint sheen of sweat. His hands shook slightly as he tried to right Draco, his arms lax and tired after the effort of holding him up, and Draco groaned, pulling Harry in by the shoulder and kissing him dirty and hard. 

“Shut up,” Draco kissed him again, pulling him towards his bedroom on unsteady legs, “don’t apologise for that, you fucking _idiot_.”

Harry moaned gratefully into his mouth, letting Draco lead him and trying to kiss back as well as he could while still trying to gasp down air, to get his breathing under control. “I thought we, _mmm_ , said no name calling.”

“Shut up,” Draco repeated on a laugh. “Since when do you follow rules?” He started when his calves hit his bed frame, and he sat down on it gratefully, moaning slightly at the twinge in his arse. “Since when do you _fuck_ like that?” he asked, crawling backwards on tired arms and letting his head hit the pillow with a sated, thankful sigh. 

Harry dropped his head, expression obscured from view as he mumbled a reply. 

“What?”

“I said, since not usually,” Harry repeated more clearly, looking up at Draco through his ruined hair. He looked like he had more to say, but he didn’t, simply running a hand through his hair. He widened his eyes, Summoning his glasses from the living room, and then casting a wandless cleaning charm over first himself, and then Draco. Draco let his hips cant off the bed as Harry’s magic ran over him, cleaning off the filth and sweat from his body. He settled his hips back down, looking Harry over appraisingly. Fuck, he was fit, his soft cock still impressive as it hung heavy between his thighs. Harry flushed slightly under Draco’s openly appreciative gaze, and Draco could have laughed; it was a bit late for modesty, now, _Potter_. 

“Are you still showing off?” Draco asked, referring to the wandless cleaning spell, and Harry smiled, one cheek dimpling. 

“No,” Harry flicked his tongue out to wet his lips, “I just didn’t actually bring my wand, so.” He shrugged, chest still heaving slightly. 

“An Auror went out without his wand.” Draco scratched as his belly. “Into a stranger’s house. How terribly unsafe of you.”

“You’re not a stranger,” Harry replied quickly, rubbing at his neck. “And I’m pretty sure I’m safe with you.”

Draco puffed his cheeks out, his stomach doing that lovely, terrifying, happy flip again. He tried to ignore it, crooking one knee instead and beckoning Harry to join him. He tried not to smirk at the view he was inadvertently directing at Harry, and tried not to smile outright when Harry immediately kneeled onto the bed. As if he’d been waiting for Draco to invite him, Draco thought, suppressing his smile even further as Harry crawled over Draco’s legs and lay down heavily beside him. Draco pulled the blue sheet over Harry, over himself, letting one leg lay bare and bent at the knee. He was hot, exhausted, his arse reminding him with each glorious, steady throb of what he’d just been doing. Just been doing with Harry sodding Potter, at 1am, in his living room. Draco ran a hand over his cheek, over the faint stubble there, and felt the laugh gust against his palm, another following hard on his heels. 

He was laughing properly by the time Harry looked over at him, blinking at him owlish and confused. 

“What’s,” Harry rested up onto one elbow. “What's funny?” 

“You just ravished me,” Draco said into the room, giggling harder as he said it out loud. Harry frowned at him, nonplussed. 

“I what?” 

“Against a wall.” Draco sucked in a breath, one hand on his ribs. “You _ravished_ me!” 

“What, I didn't―” Harry shook his head, confused but smiling as Draco looked at him properly. “I didn’t _ravish_ ―” 

“Against a wall!” Draco said emphatically. “My feet weren't even on the ground!” He jiggled the foot currently under the sheet for emphasis, bumping it against Harry’s leg. He let it rest against Harry’s calf, sliding it down his leg. 

“No, one was.” Harry tried, and failed, to suppress a laugh of his own. “Well one was on a table, actually,” Harry finished and Draco laughed harder. 

“Merlin, maybe all that talk of lusty, rampaging Mermen and highwaymen got into your head, and ―”

“No, you _told_ me to do that!” 

“I told you to fuck me against the rafters like a heroine in a romance novel?” Draco turned onto his stomach, letting himself flop down with a heavy, happy sigh and shooting Harry a warm look before he closed his eyes. 

“No, but you.” Harry laughed again, flopping down onto his back once more. He ran the back of his knuckles over Draco’s shoulder. “You expressed a general interest in that sort of thing,” he eventually said, and Draco stuttered a surprised laugh. He hummed, turning away and letting his arm hang off the bed as Harry turned onto his side, his fingers trailing over Draco’s back and down to his tailbone. 

“Harry?”

“Hmm?” Harry’s hand stilled. 

“Are you ravishing me again?” Draco murmured thickly, sleep tickling at the periphery of his eyes. 

“No,” Harry laughed. “No, I’m too fucking knackered for that.”

“Mmm. Good. Because I need to pick the pearls from my shattered necklace up off of the living room floor ―”

“Your what?” 

“― And fix my torn bodice before we can go again, given the precedent that performance has set.” 

“Oh my god,” Harry laughed again softly, shuffling closer. “You’re fixated on this, aren't you?” 

Draco smiled as Harry’s hand resumed its soft, stroking motion, fingers brushing over his shoulder blade. He sighed again, dazed and boneless and too well-fucked to deny Harry’s claim. He lifted two fingers lazily in reply before he let his wrist drop bonelessly back to the bed, sighing contentedly. 

“Is this, um.” Harry lay his hand, fingers splayed, on Draco’s shoulder blade. “Is this okay?” he curled his fingers slightly, waiting, then leaned forward and kissed the tip of Draco’s shoulder. 

Draco rolled his neck, humming noncommittally. He felt heat on his face, over his cheeks, and he pressed it into the pillow. 

“Fuck me again in the morning, Potter, and you can paw at me as much as you like while I sleep,” Draco mumbled, swallowing down his smile and the gentle, excited _flip_ in his belly, and pulling Harry’s arm around him all the same. Harry edged closer, a laugh puffing against Draco’s neck and lips against his nape. 

“Alright, then.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless thanks to my patient beta, Maccadole! <3
> 
> Comments and kudos are love! Come say hi on [LJ ](http://shiftylinguini.livejournal.com/profile/)or [tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard)<3


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